A public lecture by Fuyuki Kurasawa, given on March 28, 2008 at the Institute of Political Economy, Carleton University.

How is visuality — understood here as the mutual constitution of the visual and the social (W. J. T. Mitchell) — implicated in the mediated construction of instances of distant suffering in various parts of the world, and what are the effects of such implications? After a brief history of the visual representation of humanitarian crises by Euro-American civil society institutions, the presentation turns to a consideration of the perils and prospects of humanitarian visuality. In particular, I turn to an inescapable aporia of this visual economy, the simultaneous production and negation of the otherness of vulnerable subjects. Finally, the presentation discusses certain strategies for a critical visuality, notably a defence of the image’s interpretive ambiguity as well as practices of phenomenological reintensification and structuralist expansion of the image.

Three key concepts are worth keeping in mind:

1. Visual economy: The distribution and circulation of relations of power that constitute and structure the socio-visual field.
2. Distant suffering: Instances of mass suffering and extreme situational and structural violence that are perpetrated outside the North Atlantic region and which are represented visually via the media.
3. Humanitarian visuality: The set of visual conventions that are consistently reproduced in images of humanitarian crises over time.

Even if today new immigrants from Algeria do not hold the same high expectations about France that their fathers did, the destiny of many Algerians once on French territory is still marked by “darkness”. In October and November 2005, one such instance of “darkness” marked the lives of first, second, and third immigrants from Algeria and beyond: the emeutes in the Parisian banlieues. The emeutes started on October 27, 2005 in Clichy-sous-Bois, a Northern Parisian banlieue, with the death of two young men; during the following three weeks, the diverse instances of violence, such as burning of cars, destruction of schools, police stations, and stores, and interactions with the police forces, spread all over France. Such moments of vulnerability for the immigrant populations in France pose a series of questions which will be considered in this paper. What is the role of the national media in advancing the interests of different diasporic groups at times of intense discrimination or injustice abroad? and What is the relation between those who left and those who stayed and how is this relation connected with the history of immigration of a particular national community? One way to answer these questions and the approach I will take in this essay is to look at discourses constructed by the mass media of the country of emigration at moments when the diasporic communities are “in danger” and to account for the role of these discourses in weakening or strengthening the ties between the diaspora and the national community. This paper looks particularly at the Algerian case, analyzing the narratives constructed by the French media during the 2005 emeutes and the responses formulated by Algerian newspapers, engaged in a dialogic relation with the French media. By exploring the discourses in the French and Algerian press on the causes, actors, and development of the emeutes, I hope to shed some light on the ways in which Algeria (represented in this paper by the national media) responds to the needs and protects the rights of the Algerians in France.

To answer the previous questions, I will identify and analyze the main narratives and themes found in two sets of newspaper articles. Firstly, I chose four French newspapers based on their popularity and their diversity of political orientations: Le Monde (right), Le Figaro, Liberation and le Nouvel Observateur. Secondly, I looked at the Algerian daily newspapers El Watan, El Moudjahid, and Le Quotidien d’Oran, the top three Algerian publications. The focus will be on articles from El Watan, because it offers the most extensive coverage of the emeutes, with the first article being published on October 31, 2005. El Moudjahid offers a very modest series of articles which remain at the level of descriptive reporting. I encountered reference to Le Quotidien d’Oran in several French newspapers but the archives of the Algerian publication available online do not cover the year 2005. For both the Algerian and the French newspapers, I selected articles starting with October 27 and ending with November 30, dates which coincide with the beginning of the emeutes and with their gradual ending.

The Algerian Diaspora in France: emigrants, immigrants, and French citizens

Every nation experiences immigration differently based on particular historical, social, economic, and cultural encounters between the nation of origin and the host nation. Furthermore, a nation establishes different relations with the various populations of immigrants it receives; thus, there is no immigrant experience which resembles another, at the group and even at the individual level. Looking at the “destiny of the immigrants,” Emmanuel Todd argues that “des groupes semblables sur le plan des structures anthropologiques, Pakistanais et Algériens, Jamaïcains et Martiniquais, ont, dans des sociétés d’accueil distinctes,… , des destines divergents” (Todd, 1994, p. 12) Mireille Rosello introduces the concept of “performative encounter” which is defined as a moment of intersection between two individuals or two groups from different cultures whose past has been marked by violent national and international conflicts but who manage to create “an unknown protocol to replace the script” (Rosello, 2005, p. 1-2). From this perspective, every interaction between France and Algeria could create new dialogues and new forms of communication which do not correspond with the general narrative developed historically between a colonizer and a former colonized nation. At the same time, “the naming of an ethnic group is usually based on such a homeland, and its members will often continue to be linked to this ancestral location even after centuries living in diaspora” (Karim, 2004, p. 6). This connection with the ancestral land and with the history of that land can sometimes prevent the Algerians to be engaged in “performative encounters” with the French.

The history of the relations between France and Algeria is marked by colonialism, by the memory of the Algerian War, and by a conflictual process of Algerian immigration to France. Charles-Robert Ageron describes the decade of 1830 as “a time of unrestricted colonization, in fact of anarchy, [when] a flight of human vultures swooped on the country [Algeria], trafficking in real estates in the city, grabbing hold of land and cutting down the woods” (Ageron, 1991, p. 24). The destructive forces of French colonialism which occupied Algeria for more than one hundred and thirty years acted as erasers of “autonomous regions of social, political, and economic difference” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 45). The cultural and political infrastructure of the country ceased to exist, being replaced with artificial bodies of power, with policies extending the legislation of the metropole, and with economies which favored the French. All these new structures eliminated the Algerian out of Algeria, transforming the North African country into l’Algérie francaise. On November 1, 1954, the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN) “proclaimed the start of the revolutionary struggle for the liquidation of the colonial system, the abandonment of all relics of reformism, and national independence through the restoration of the Algerian state” (Ageron, 1991, p. 108). This “revolutionary struggle” evolved into one of the most tragic wars in recent history, which ended with the Evian Agreement in 1962, leaving behind a bitter memory of the past which the French tried to ignore and the Algerians to ignite. This disjunction in the way French and Algerians interpret the same past makes “performative encounters” rather difficult to take place.

The memories of colonialism and of the Algerian war represent a powerful narrative in the larger discourse of Algerian immigration to France. Todd Shepard describes the moment of decolonization or better said the moment when decolonization was “invented” as a point in time which “allowed the French to forget that Algeria had been an integral part of France since the 1830s and to escape many of the larger implications of that shared past” (Shepard, 2006, p. 2). However, the presence of Algerian immigrants on the French soil was a constant reminder of this “shared past”. The arrival of the largest waves of Algerian immigrants is related to the need for manual labor in France, especially during the period called “les trente glorieuses”. Before decolonization, the Algerian workers came to France with short-term contracts which guaranteed their return to their country of origins. According to Michel Wieviorka, “although such workers were socially integrated in terms of labor relationships, they were politically and culturally excluded” (Wieviorka, 2002, p. 132). In the mid-1960s, the condition of the Algerian immigrants and their relation to France changes, when the French society faced the end of “noria,” described by Abdelmalek Sayad as the image of the immigration process constructed in the French imaginary as “a perpetual process of replenishment that brings into France - and removes from France - men who are always new and always identical” (Sayad, 1999, p. 30). Moreover, the politics of “regroupement familial” which developed in the 1970s brought permanence to immigration through the arrival of women and children.

Sayad highlights a consistent theoretical error in the sociologies of Algerian immigration to France, the lack of the dimension of emigration and departure from Algeria. Singled out as an immigrant, the Algerian on French territory has been historically and theoretically disconnected from Algeria. The author states, “rather than devoting our efforts to explaining the situation of emigrants purely and simply in terms of the history of their stay in France, we must take as our object the relationship between the emigrants’ system of dispositions and the set of mechanisms to which they are subjected by the very fact of their emigration” (Sayad, 1999, p. 29). Therefore, according to Sayad, the formation of an Algerian diaspora in France must constantly be measured to the relation the Algerian immigrants develop and maintain with the homeland. Such a view of diasporas has been recently contested by scholars such as Asu Aksoy and Kevin Robins, who define their “fundamental problem with diasporic cultural studies” in terms of the permanent connection with the “mentality of imagined communities, cultures and identities - which is grounded essentially in the national mentality” (Aksoy and Robins, 2003, p. 92). Even if Aksoy and Robins argue that “certain new developments in the migration… cannot be made sense of within this diasporic cultural frame” (ibid), the case of Algerian immigrants in France cannot be understood outside the emigration/immigration dialectic and without considering the role of national memory. Therefore, I argue that the Algerian diaspora experiences its relation to France through both a national and transnational perspective.

In order to prove the strong liaison between emigration and immigration and the effects of this connection on Algerians both in France and Algeria, Sayad constructed a genealogy of immigration formed by three ages. The three ages of immigration, presented through the dual lens of emigration/immigration, “correspond to phases that can be distinguished within processes of transformation internal to… communities that produce emigrants” (Sayad, 1999, p. 32). The first age of immigration, “an orderly emigration,” developed as a way to allow the small rural communities in Algeria to survive supported by the financial gains of the migrant workers. The immigrant, always male, married, and middle aged, was chosen by his community and invested with a very precise mission, limited in time and objectives. The “good” emigrant was that who “succeeded in remaining the authentic peasant he once was,” without being influenced by the life in the urban environment (Sayad, 1999, p. 34). Therefore, the first age of immigration produces the least changes in the structure of the homeland.

The second and third ages of immigration represent the spaces of transformation of the Algerian social landscape. The second age, “the loss of control,” embodies the first moments of rupture from the community of origins, while the immigrant becomes the element of disintegration. This new phase is characterized by a strong process of “depeasantification” of both the laborer in France and of the village in Algeria and brings to life a new type of peasant who replaces “the good peasant,” “the peasantless peasant” (Sayad, 1999, p. 41). During the second age, more and more men of different ages and social positions leave for France, changing the demographics of departure. Moreover, the money gained in France are no longer returned to the villages of origins, resulting in the degradation of rural communities in Algeria. This process of degradation produces “a major exodus of rural populations, [which] transferred potential emigrants to France to towns within Algeria itself” (Sayad, 1999, p. 41). The third age of immigration, “an Algerian ‘colony’ in France,” represents the continuation of the previous phase, accentuating to an extreme some of its traits. Sayad points out the permanent structure of the Algerian immigration to France, due to the fact that “every new wave of emigrants that came to France found an established community made up of earlier emigrants into which it could incorporate itself” (Sayad, 1999, p. 57). The permanence of the new waves of immigration creates a “little country” (Algeria) within France, reproducing social and professional structures from home. However, according to Sayad, the Algerians in France are “torn between two times, between two countries, and between two conditions,” unable to find a true home either in France or Algeria (Sayad, 1999, p. 58).

As the homeland but also as a country of emigration, Algeria cannot act as a space of identity for those who left for France, mainly due to the nature of the “break” between the immigrant and the nation, historically grounded in the memories of colonization. Using Mieke Bal’s theory of “trauma recall,” Patricia Lorcin argues that “in the Franco-Algerian context it is the collective experience of trauma that left its mark on both nations: the trauma of colonial experience as well as the trauma of decolonization” (Lorcin, 2006, p. xxi). Through media, governmental policies, and official discourses, the Algerian diaspora is constantly reminded by the trauma of the Franco-Algerian past and by the problematic position of the immigrant community in the social and cultural French context. The Algerian immigrant is never allowed to forget his marginal position and his duty to assimilate to the new society, leaving behind any identitary markings. However, “an immigrant brings a lot of baggage with him. That suitcase tied together with string is only the tip of the iceberg. The rest is in his head, his heart, his glance, and his memory” (Ben Jelloun, 1999, p. 21). From an emigration perspective, Sayad points out the fact that “there is probably not a single family in Algeria that does not have its emigrant in France, but this does not prevent anyone from speaking of emigrants in terms of denunciation, accusation, stigmatization” (Sayad, 1999, p. 111). Emigrating to the metropole, mainly in the case of the first generation of immigrants, was perceived as an act of treason if looked at through the colonial lens of memory.

In defining the Algerian diaspora, if such a definition is required, one must not get lost in overemphasizing the transnational dimension as a creator of new subjectivities while diminishing the symbolic and material presence of the national. The optimism of Silverstein’s belief that “the creation of these infranational and transnational boundaries results in the formation of new categories of political subjectivity, of new formulations of solidarity and belonging across spatial and ethnic divides” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 239) tends to minimize the role of the national element in the identities of the diasporic individual. Even the members of second and third generations of Algerians in France, who are no longer immigrants but French citizens, are placed in the general category of immigrants, especially in moments of tension and violence, as exemplified by the 2005 Parisian emeutes. Therefore, young Algerians, who may not have even stepped on Algerian soil, thus in a way members of the transnational generation and producers of “performative encounters” become part of the popular discourse of the “immigrant problem”. The national is constantly re-inserted into their experience of France thorough media and political narratives. Such narratives were used repeatedly by the French media during the 2005 emeutes. What was the response of Algerian mainstream newspapers to these narratives and how do the homeland media discourses address the safety and the rights of the diaspora? Some possible answers will be developed in the following two sections of the paper.

Narratives of the Emeutes in the French Media

Several articles from El Watan make direct references to the ways in which the French press engaged with the events in the banlieue. Remi Yacine writes “a l’exception notable de Libération et de l’Humanité, toute la presse a fait sienne la version officielle… Les medias reprennent sans le conditionnel de rigueur ‘le prêt-a-être-diffusé’ mixé par les autorités et dénient aux jeunes la moindre affirmation” (Yacine, 2005c). One of the major complaints of El Watan regarding the coverage of the events by the French journalists was the over-use of sensationalism and simplification of the causes of the emeutes. Therefore, the readers might get the impression that “la banlieue est musulmane, et par conséquent, les émeutiers qui la composent sont tous musulmans… A écouter, lire, et voir les informations, aucune des voitures brûlées, aucun des magasins saccagés n’ont été l’oeuvre de Pierre, Paul, David ou Jacques. Les coupables sont Mouss, Kader et Momo” (Mekbel, 2005). The vilification of the French press, with the few mentioned exceptions, is not entirely grounded in reality. Generally, the French mainstream press adopted a moderate tone in the depiction of the emeutes, maybe in an attempt to impartiality required by such sensitive issues such as immigration, Islam, violence in the banlieue, and social insecurity. A series of main narratives were developed by the French press, most of them already familiar to the French audiences: the causes of the emeutes, the social and cultural problems associated with the banlieue, and the potential failure of the French model of integration.

The causes of the emeutes have been consensually agreed upon by the French media. The French public finds out from the December 29, 2005 edition of Le Monde, that “les violentes emeutes de Clichy-sous-Bois, [ont commence] dans la nuit du jeudi 27 au vendredi 29 octobre, a la suite de la mort de deux jeunes réfugiés dans un transformateur EDF pour échapper la police” (”Les violences urbaines,” 2005). Only a few articles in Le Monde mention the names of the two victims, Zyed and Bouna, names with a clear non-French and ethnic resonance and none of the consulted articles make reference to the age of the two boys. Moreover, the emphasis on the accidental death of Zyad and Bouna prevails in the majority of the articles (”Un petit Mai-68 des banlieues,” 2005; “Quatrieme nuit,” 2005). However, the highly simplified narrative presented by Le Monde becomes more refined in other publications, who inform the readers about the background of the two victims. Le Nouvel Observateur enters into the private space of Bouna’s life in order to depict his last moments - “Jeudi 27 Octobre, Bouna Traoré repasse son tee-shirt pour être beau, ce soir, dans les rues de Clichy-sous-Bois… Bouna, 15 ans, enfant d’une famille mauritanienne aime faire du vélo en équilibre sur la roué arrière. S’hydrate la peau à la Nivea après la douche. Comme son copain Zyed, 17 ans” (Askolovitch, 2005). For Michel Wieviorka, writing for le Figaro, the event presented by Le Monde as an accident becomes a drama which happened in circumstances not yet clarified (Wieviorka, 2005). No longer framed as an accident, the death of the two boys opens a series of questions which refer to the relation between the French police and the youth in the banlieues.

The linear narrative of the tragic yet accidental death of Bouna and Zyed is fragmented by the uncertainty surrounding the role of the police. Libération is one of the first newspapers to question the innocence of the French police by asking, “Alors? Poursuivis? Pas poursuivis? Et ce cambriolage… Qu’est-il devenu, ce cambriolage, qui avait d’abord justifie la poursuite par la police des deux garçons de Clichy-sous-Bois” (Schneidermann, 2005). Stéphane Beaud and Michel Pialoux define the daily experiences of many young inhabitants of the French banlieues as “une culture de provocation” which manifests itself through various factors: exclusion from the job market, inability of the education system to integrate the youth, constant harassment from the police forces which are a permanent presence on the streets of the various suburban neighborhoods (Beaud & Pialoux, 2003, p. 346-7). Resonances of this “culture de provocation” can be found in articles from Le Figaro, who reflect on the role of “des contrôles musclés, parfois racistes, de la part de forces de police qui agissent d’autant plus brutalement qu’elles sont elles-mêmes saisies par la peur” (Wieviorka, 2005). Marwan Mohammed and Laurent Muchielli interpret the encounter between the police and the youth of the banlieue in terms of territoriality, emphasizing the negative effects of the daily presence of the police and of the random identity checks on the banlieusards (Mohammed & Muchielli, 2006, p. 101).

The nuanced interpretations of the causes of the emeutes provided by some French newspapers are nevertheless rooted in the dominant-hegemonic narrative of “the immigrant problem” which prevails in France since the 1970s and which tends to reduce the immigrants of all generations to producers of the social and economic crisis of the French society. Silverstein traces the history of the narrative to the first waves of permanent immigration from various former colonies, when “these movements of people, commodities and ideas from the postcolonial periphery to metropole have been represented, within party programs and scholarly literature alike, as novel, unnatural, and potentially threatening to European host societies” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 23). Pascal Blanchard connects the present discourses on immigration in France with the incapacity of the Hexagon to escape “la matrice coloniale” and to cease imagining the immigrant as “indigènes a éduquer” (Blanchard, 2005, p. 181). Therefore, concludes Blanchard, “le constant est clair, ce sont des immigres a part, des citoyens de seconde zone, sur eux pèse une certain malédiction qui induit une relégation systématique, réelle et symbolique, aux marges de la société” (ibid.). The majority of the consulted articles reproduce this image of the immigrant, who is nameless, without a specific ethnicity, and deprived of a personal history. Therefore, for the most part, the aspects of emigration, colonization, and memory are left out from the media narratives, being replaced with discourses on violence in the banlieues, social insecurity, and inefficiency of the French government (especially Minister of Interior Nicolas Sarkozy) to put an end to the emeutes.

The banlieue, which is par excellence the space of the immigrants, has been constructed in the French imaginary as dangerous, violent, dirty, insecure, and isolated. The emeutes brought back these images, opening new debates on old themes. Le Monde reminds the Parisian readers of the net separation between “they” and “us”. Adopting the rhetoric of Sarkozy, one article defines the banlieue through the metaphor of “nette séparation entre ‘eux’ et ‘nous’; eux, ce sont les deliquants, les voyous, la racaille; par ‘nous,’ il faut comprendre les citoyens honnêtes” (”Les limites d’une politique,” 2005). The same article describes the banlieues as “lieux privilégies des incivilités, des agressions physiques et sonores, de ces grands drames et petites pollutions” (ibid.). In a chat organized by Le Monde with Eric Macé, the banlieues are described as “abandoned territories,” which function to trap large populations in urban areas which are abandoned by the public politics (Baudry & Mazzorato, 2005). For other commentators on the banlieues, the main cause of the degradation and segregation is not political but social. Therefore, “la ghettoïsation urbaine et scolaire, elles sont le fruit non d’une politique mais d’un mouvement de la société, de sa parcellisation, de l’éloignement que chacun cherche a organiser d’avec la catégorie qui lui est répute inférieure, au nom de l’angoisse du déclassement” (”Apres le choc,” 2005).

Even when the banlieues are judged based on the inefficiency of the political system and on the failure of the republican system to accommodate the immigrants, they are nonetheless depicted as negative spaces which need severe reparations in a near yet imprecise future. Very seldom can one read about positive aspects of the banlieue, as in Wieviorka’s intervention in Le Figaro, “Dans ce contexte, tout n’est pas noir : il existe aussi, dans ces ‘banlieues’ tant décriées, une vie associative, des activités culturelles, sportives, artistiques, etc.; mais tout cela est gommé sous l’effet quotidien de la disqualification médiatique et de certains événements” (Wieviorka, 2005). Several journalists, mainly in Le Figaro and Libération, approached the theme of the banlieues by asking how did the banlieues become “abandoned territories”? The answers are multiple: discrimination of the youth from the banlieue in the job market, especially in the suburbs at the North of Paris (Hugues, 2005); the feeling of exclusion from the national community (Schneidermann, 2005); the lack of respect from the part of several politicians, especially Sarkozy, who is well-known for using racist and discriminatory terms such as “racaille, voyous, Karcher” (Blecher, Durand, Laske & Wallon, 2005).

If the banlieues are “abandoned territories,” who are the banlieusards and the young émeutiers who are burning cars and destroying stores and schools? The media makes no reference to any ethnic or religious affiliations of the émeutiers and tries assiduously to disconnect the emeutes from Islam (Courage, 2005; Gabizon, 2005a). The reader cannot gather too much information on the ethnic and cultural origins of the émeutiers from the newspaper articles, since they are all placed under the label of second or third generation immigrants. Once again, the narrative comes back to the construction of the immigrant and of immigration as a problem which lacks a concrete solution. Nevertheless, the solution presented by the French government, according to Nacira Guenif-Soulamas, seems to rest with the domestication and civilizing of the immigrants. She states, “les civiliser consiste donc a les amener a se dissoudre dans la société a laquelle ils doivent appartenir… il leur faudrait lutter contre eux-mêmes pour pouvoir accéder a la qualité de citoyen” (Guenif-Soulamas, 2005, p. 203). Guenif-Soulamas refers specifically to the Muslim immigrants who are generally considered the most different in terms of cultural, religious, and social habits, thus the most difficult to control and integrate to France “une et indivisible”. Silverstein, referring specifically to the Algerian diaspora, argues that “the postcolonial production of Algerian subjectivity in France extends beyond construction, regulation, and renovation of the built environment… the French state and immigrant actors have competed and colluded for the control of the immigrant bodily practices” (Silverstein, 2004, p. 123), in an almost colonial fashion.

Therefore, the banlieusard represents for the French government the failure of a process of civilization and integration. Officially, to conform to the “equalitarian” ideology of French politics, the identity of the immigrant is not relevant since, once on French territory, everyone is supposed to become French. However, even if the majority of the newspaper articles did not reveal the ethnic background of those involved in the emeutes, the French public already knows that the immigrants who “cause” problems are mainly North African, and, more specifically, Algerian. Even if Ben Jelloun’s following statement reflects his personal experience of France two decades ago, his observations are not completely erroneous, “Anti-North African racism doesn’t bother to split hairs. It makes no distinction between Algerians, Moroccans, and Tunisians, between Arabs and Berbers, between young and old” (Ben Jelloun, 1999, p. 85).

The Dialogic Narratives of “El Watan”

For the entire period of the French riots, El Watan covered daily the events in France, developing, similarly to the French press, a series of explanatory and analytical narratives on the emeutes. If the French media did not point fingers at the Algerian diaspora in particular, what could explain the abundance of articles on the French emeutes in the Algerian newspaper El Watan? One potential answer comes from Lorcin, who states that, until June 1999, the French government did not acknowledge that a war had been fought over the decolonization of Algeria, referring to the Algerian War as “des operations de securite et de maintien de l’ordre” (Lorcin, 2006, p. xxv). Accordingly, the silence of France in terms of the colonial past and of the dramatic decolonization “meant that no dominant memory could satisfactorily emerge… Instead, there was silence” since France lacked the ability and desire to formulate a coherent narrative about its Algerian past (ibid.). At the same time, many of the post-independence immigrant politics are shaped by the memory of the Algerian war (Stora qtd. in Lorcin, 2006, p. xxvi). The memory of the colonial past and of decolonization and the bitter destiny of the first generations of Algerian immigrants to France who came with hopes for a better life haunt the daily experiences of the second and third generation Algerians. According to Olivier Masclet, the young Algerians grew up seeing their fathers humiliated, losing their dignity, and feeding from memories of the old country (Masclet, 2006, p. 115). Is the discontentment and anger of the Algerian diaspora translated by El Watan in the depictions of the emeutes? What role does memory play in the narratives constructed by El Watan?

El Watan investigates, similarly to the French press, the causes of the emeutes. Various articles in the Algerian newspaper inform the audiences about the accidental death of the two boys who were running to escape the police; however, the emphasis in the coverage of the causes rests on the ethnic origins of the victims. One article states, “à l’origine, un souffle de révolte s’était levé a Saine Saint-Denis après l’électrocution accidentelle de deux adolescents de 15 et 17 ans. Zyed Benna, un Français d’origine tunisienne de 15 ans, et Bouna Troare, un Français d’origine malienne de 17 ans” (Belabes, 2005b). Moreover, the two victims are not isolated incidents but are part of a larger pattern of violent happenings in the French banlieues which are closely connected with the abandoning of the suburbs, also called “zones sensibles” by the French authorities. Therefore, “les deux jeunes victimes de Clichy-sous-Bois s’ajoutent à la longue liste de personnes mortes dans des conditions tragiques lors de l’incendie des maisons vétustes ou elles loges. Toutes ces victimes ont en commun d’être originaires du continent africain; d’être aussi Arabo-Maghrébins” (Lofti, 2005a). The ethnicity of the victims and the connection between the two boys who died on 27 October 2005 and other tragic “accidents” in the banlieue add a dimension which was left aside from most of the French press: the connection between ethnicity, immigration, and social inequality, especially in the banlieues.

The French press offers a more moderate perspective on the causes which transformed the banlieues in “abandoned territories,” blaming both the government and the French society, but also using larger anonymous narratives such as massive unemployment, lack of integration in the educational system, or discrimination. All these narratives are used in a general manner without accompanying details of who is to blame in particular for them. For El Watan, these social and political narratives have a very precise cause: Nicolas Sarkozy. From the very beginning of the coverage of the emeutes, several journalists introduce the figure of Sarkozy as a politician who makes promises he cannot keep for the ethic groups in France. In an article entitled “25 ans de promesses et de derobades,” Malek Boutih, one of the few French politicians of ethnic origins is quoted criticizing the promises made by Sarkozy regarding the right to vote of any non-French citizen who had lived on French territory for more than five years. Boutih states, “[Sarkozy] emprunte des concepts ailleurs puis les détourne à son profit. C’est déjà le cas avec la discrimination positive et les quotas. Cela peut l’être avec le vote des étrangers. Mais son bilan ne trompe personne. Il se limite a des mots pas a des actes” (Bouzeghrane, 2005a). Azouz Begag, the Minister (of Algerian origins) in charge with equality of chances, is one of the opponents of Sarkozy’s project of affirmative action (”discrimination positive”). He states, “dans la rue, la designation noire existe, elle est socialement vivante, mais on n’a pas le droit de montrer statistiquement ce qu’elle représente dans la société. Il n’est pas honteux d’être Arabe, Kabyle, Africain” (Bouzeghrane, 2005b). Therefore, Sarkozy is constructed by the Algerian press in animosity with the interests of the various groups of immigrants, including Algerians.

Sarkozy becomes the main actor in the coverage of the emeutes in El Watan in relation to the language he used to stigmatize the banlieues. The French Minister of Interior becomes the embodiment of all the failures of the French government to accommodate the immigrant communities to the national body of France. Belabes writes in an article from early November, “les violences qui secouent depuis plus d’une semaine les banlieues parisiennes et qui s’étendent d’autres départements de France étaient prévisibles depuis le retour de Nicolas Sarkozy au ministère de l’intérieur et la multiplication des petites phrases assassines sur les banlieues” (Belabes, 2005a). These “petites phrases assassines” refer to the comments made by Sarkozy on various occasions in relations to his engagement to “clean up” the banlieues. According to him, “il fallait nettoyer les quartiers au Karcher” and punish “le racaille” (Maiche, 2005). Dominique Sopo, president of SOS Racisme believes that the strong, racist, and “politically incorrect” language used by Sarkozy represented a fuel for the emeutes (ibid.). Yacine speaks with several mediateurs from the Parisian banlieues on the rage caused by Sarkozy’s words. Nadir, mediateur in Clichy-sous-Bois, speaks with anger and disappointment, “le gouvernement a rate une belle occasion de se réconcilier avec la banlieue. En soutenant Sarkozy, Dominique de Villepin se disqualifie. Au lieu de se demarquer du pyromane, il prefere le couvrir. C’est lamentable” (Yacine, 2005a).

The Algerian journalists and commentators find Sarkozy’s words unpardonable and provocative, making the French politician responsible for the violence in the banlieues. The Algerian press is not trying to take a moderate approach; on the contrary, it takes sides with the young men and women who live in the banlieues, who are pushed to commit acts of violence by the unwillingness of the French government to treat them as citizens. Belabes points out the nature of the revolt felt by the young banlieusards, “la révolte des émigrés de seconde génération, dont l’écrasante majorité est française, n’est pas un simple effet de mode de jeunes en mal d’inspiration. Elle se nourit de ce genre d’humiliation que subissent les jeunes dans leur vie de tous les jours” (Belabes, 2005a). Moreover, the ethnical dimension of the sufferance of the immigrants comes into play in the construction of the media narratives. Belabes ends one of his articles by asking, “La France arrivera-t-elle à arrêter cette grave dérive qui tend à présenter les Maghrébins comme des êtres scongenitalement non solubles dans la République? (ibid.)

The discursive spaces which define the major gap between French and Algerian coverage of the emeutes rests in the realm of memory. The majority of the articles in El Watan link the emeutes and the situation of the immigrants and French citizens of non-European origins with the legacy of colonialism and decolonization. Similarly with the condition of the colonial subject on former colonized African territories, “l’immigre, selon les termes de Pierre Bourdieu, suscite l’embarras” (Meddi, 2005b). Furthermore, the immigration is seen as a “hot” topic in French politics due to the colonial past of France and to the constant effort to deal with the past. This failed effort is depicted in terms of the controversial law of 23 February 2005, voted by the General Assembly, which glorifies the legacy of colonialism in former colonies (ibid.). According to Meddi, the glorification of the colonial past is in great contrast with the present situation of the immigrant populations, described as “non-être social” which are products of colonization (ibid.). The social fracture which characterizes the French society, divided between the cities and their banlieues is depicted as an effect of colonialism and of the French denial of a collective memory of the past. One article states, “la fracture sociale… passé par l’établissement d’un dialogue qui a été toujours contrecarrée par les résistances d’une société française qui se refuse a admettre que son vécu d’aujourd’hui est en grande partie une séquence de son histoire et de son passé colonial” (Lofti, 2005b). For some journalists, the legacy of colonialism is most visible in the vocabulary used by Sarkozy to describe the young populations living in the banlieues, especially the term “racaille”. The readers are informed that “le mot ‘racaille’ a des relents coloniaux et je me souviens encore de l’époque ou l’on traitait couramment les Arabes de ‘bicots’, de ‘bougnoules’ ou encore de ‘ratons’, les juifs de ‘youpines’ et les Noirs de ‘nègres’” (Daouzli, 2005).

The narrative of memory which persists in the depiction of the emeutes is not generally focused on colonialism in general but it reflects specifically the concerns of the Algerians in Algeria and of the diasporas in France. In reference to the causes and developments of the emeutes and the various frames used by the French media, Ahmed Benzelikha responds, “encore une fois nous sommes rattrapés par l’histoire, représentée par ce qu’il y a de pire dans les relations franco-algériennes: la guerre, la torture, l’OAS, les ratonnades, l’état d’urgence, le racisme et une haine indicible” (Benzelikha, 2005). Benzelikha refers in his article mainly to the discourses of Jean Marie Le Pen, the leader of the extreme right French party the National Front, which are built on the damaging presence in France of “un ‘Autre’ algerien” but points out that the lepenien rhetoric spills over, being present in the “securitary populism” of Sarkozy (ibid.). Like the majority of the consulted articles, Benzelikha takes the side of the Algerian diaspora, acknowledging that “cet antialgerianisme primaire [est] induite par la présence marquée d’une nombreuse communauté algérienne ou d’origine algérienne en France, qui cristallise toutes les haines, les craintes et les dépits accumules” (ibid). As the narratives in El Watan evolve, it becomes clear that the Algerian journalists respond to the tensioned situation of the immigrant communities in France at the time of the emeutes, with a particular focus on the Algerian populations.

Conclusions

Both France and Algeria have been struggling with the memory of colonialism, adopting various strategies of collective remembering. In France, remembering has been equated with forgetting until recent times, while in Algeria, the construction of memories has been dependent on the attitude of France. Judging by the articles in El Watan, the Algerians seem comfortable with bringing back various instances of the colonial past and using them as a support for the diasporas abroad. At the same time, the usage of the colonial memories in the context of the emeutes could also be interpreted as a strategy for criticizing France at a time when the entire world is watching. Criticizing France works also as a form of empowerment for the Algerians, translated in the language of post-colonialist rhetoric, as the former colonizer state is able to criticize the metropole. Regardless of the intentions, the Algerian press fills the spaces left uncovered by the French press, especially in terms of connecting the colonial past and its legacies with the present social and cultural problems in the French society. Blaming generally unemployment, racism, and French urban development politics without creating the historical context for the current emeutes functions as a superficial depiction of the realities in the banlieues. For the most part, the French press adopted this superficial framework. By bringing in issues of memory and colonialism, El Watan offers a voice to the young men and women living in the banlieues and saves them from simplistic labels such as “delinquents” or “racaille”. If the narratives in El Watan cannot fully elucidate the relation between Algeria as a nation and the Algerian diasporas in France, they can, however, prove the existence of a certain solidarity between the Algerian public space (represented in this paper by the media) and the diasporas. The solidarity with and support for the Algerian diasporas come to life through narratives of collective memory born out of the desire to speak openly about the colonial past and its effects on those living within and outside Algeria.

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While there is a plethora of views pertaining to various forms of sexual relationships between humans, it is generally held that as long as such interactions occur between consenting adults they are “healthy.” Of course, one could speak of traditional-religious conceptions of heterosexual, monogamous and procreative sexual partnerships as being the only virtuous expression of love; however an increasing number of individuals reject this assertion, instead subscribing to the importance of pleasure above the production and regeneration of labourers. The materialisation of Realdolls challenges both conventional and progressive notions of sex, sexuality and love. Realdolls are carefully constructed sex toys, specifically designed to look like women. While there are a variety of masturbatory aides in existence (many designed to emulate female characteristics and texture) the patented Realdoll is exceptional as its incredibly life-like appearance and feeling is an attempt to blur the lines of man and machine. The doll, according to its US Patent, is:

A figure toy amusement device comprising: an articulated skeleton … possessing: attachment means for a wig, a jaw movable with respect to said simulated skull, and a mouth lined with a smooth membrane and having a fluid receptacle located there behind; … [a] torso possessing a bosom possessing human verisimilitude in shape and feel and a vulva located between said two legs lined with a smooth membrane and having a fluid receptacle located there behind; … a full sized fully articulate doll with selectively displayed alternate faces and visual, postural, and palpable verisimilitude with a female human figure (United States Patent Office:2003).

The dolls (and their owners) provide opportunities to discuss the changing interactions between men and machines, organic and inanimate constructions of capitalism. While sexual aides have existed for years, the nature of the RealDoll provides, arguably for the first time, the opportunity for men to entirely eschew relationships with organic women while maintaining a satisfactory sex life. These dolls do not think, feel or speak (although advances in robotic-technologies will almost certainly change this in the near future), however, they fulfill sexual roles and provide an illusory form of companionship. It is indubitable that these feminised creations provide some owners with societal interactions traditionally considered as uniquely human. Men give their dolls names, clothe them and make them up, they go on excursions with their owners and are sent to the doctor. The “women” have MySpace pages, blogs and entire communities devoted to the dolls’ sexual and social lives. They, like many human-machine hybrids, exist in a purgatory of flesh and plastic, emotion and stoicism, the real and unreal.

While Marx’s concept of alienation is hardly a recent postulation, it provides an epistemological lens with which to examine this social phenomenon and evolving conceptions of both intimacy and love. This essay will argue that increasingly emotional relationships between men and Realdolls are indicative of both Marxist conceptions of alienation in (post)-capitalist societies and resultant social trends in which traditional typologies of humans and machines are increasingly ambiguous and insignificant. First, it must be proven that men are entering into sexual and emotional relationships with their anthropomorphised Realdolls. This will necessitate the use of “non-academic” sources of information, as there has been almost nothing written directly on the subject of this sex doll. Thus, it is necessary to rely on another representation of the increasing institutionalisation of machines in the life of men: the (proper-nounal) Internet. This will be followed by an examination of the works of Karl Marx, Herbert Marcuse, Bruno Latour and Donna Haraway which will serve not only as proof of the general alienation of the worker but also the social-scientific constructions of man and machine.

The previously mentioned US Patent of a Realdoll communicates the ostensibly detached and scientific nature of this innovative device. However, a brief examination of the experiences of men who own female reproductions will illustrate that these relations have (for some) developed from those of pure sexual satisfaction to the fulfillment of a larger need for social interaction. This simultaneously eschews the inevitable complications of true human contact while maintaining the semblance of (usually) monogamous partnerships over which the man has ultimate control. There is “Dave-Cat” for example, a 32 year old man from Detroit whose Realdoll is named “Sidore.” She is a Japanese-British goth who is “beautiful, loyal [and] a great listener”- everything Dave is looking for in a woman (Laslocky, 1). Sidore has her own MySpace page which explains she is “in a relationship” with Dave, has completed some college and has 70 friends online (MySpace:2007). Everhard, a 49 year old man from Britain, owns several Realdolls. They have their own personalities (although each face does not have its own body, they are easily exchanged) and he frequently takes “family photos” when they go out (Laslocky, 3). Everhard dresses and makes-up his dolls; he awakens them by changing their faces to ones with open eyes and perfumes them, noting that one of his dolls, Virginia “just lies there - she’s very static” (Holt 2007). Another doll owner, Gordon (38 years old and from Virginia) ordered a second replica of a woman in order to keep his first doll from becoming lonely and hopes that when he dies they will be buried with him so that “we can all turn to dust together” (Holt 2007). Admittedly, it is unlikely that these cases are indicative of the types of relationships which all Realdoll owners have with their sex toys. It is a fair assumption, however, that these extremes can be used to construct an idea of what Realdoll ownership entails. One online community of doll possessors is a “labyrinthine cyber haven for sex-doll enthusiasts with nearly 12 000 members and thousands of photographs and message strands” (Laslocky, 2). The dolls are frequently kept warm with electric blankets to approximate human sensations and it would seem there are definite attempts to anthropomorphise them. When the dolls require repair, they are sent to a Realdoll Doctor who does everything from tightening limbs to replacing vaginas. He notes that these repairs are customary and that “sex is a violent act, but the dolls can handle it, they’re made for abuse” (Holt 2007). The base-model of the doll costs US$ 6500 (with personalisation adding to that figure) and men see purchasing one as an investment (Laslocky, 1). This female ownership goes beyond the fulfillment of sexual needs (which could be accomplished with a cheaper sexual aide or through prostitution) and instead indicates a desire to satisfy a deeper need for companionship.

The origins of the alienated worker are to be found in the social acceptance of currency as a medium of exchange. As man produces goods for indirect, arbitrary exchange values rather than for himself or for direct trade with others’ creations, he inevitably enters into social relations independent of human interaction (Marx 1973:196-7). The replacement of creativity in production in favour of efficient mass fabrications creates a dichotomy of manufacture. That which is constructed necessarily results in a bifurcation of functions - those of natural and exchange values. These two spheres of value seldom exist in harmony, and as man cannot determine the true worth of his production he is separated from its usefulness. “In other words, its exchange value has a material existence, apart from the product” (McLellan:59). Money provides a social medium for the trade of products, and is fashioned as a non-human arbiter of value. This crucial shift in thought provides the preconditions for advanced capitalism to flourish. Although the creation of a moneyed economy is intended to facilitate trade between various producers, its unintended consequence is to act as a potent force in the lives of buyer, seller and producer. The ironic result of the creation of increasing amounts of wealth has the effect of decreasing the value of the labourer. “The worker becomes an ever cheaper commodity the more commodities he creates,” and is in turn continually fashioned as a product himself (Marx 1969: 107).

Another result of man’s detachment from his production, according to Marx, is the fetishism of commodities. As items are formed from natural resources they become commodities, representing not only the intrinsic worth of their materials, but also the labour which was needed for their creation. In this manner the commodity is fetishised, revered as a detached social interaction. These products “become commodities, social things whose qualities are at the same time perceptible and imperceptible by the senses” (Marx 1990:164). Commodities transcend the boundaries of the material and social - they are products of both nature and man and the original obscuration of true value. Men are compelled to interact with each other through the products of their labour and in turn are removed from that which they create. They do not need to identify with the end-user of this marriage of nature and society, as the medium of money provides a method for other networks to conduct this transaction. Of course, in this era of Internet purchasing and credit, one need not leave home to buy and sell commodities, a peculiar manifestation of this distancing of producer and consumer. Labour ceases to be individual and instead is a social necessity. Social relationships concerning humans disappear in favour of “material relations between persons and social relations between things” (Marx 1990:166). Through this process, the worker is increasingly distanced from his production and enters into social relations with things, rather than beings.

The appropriation of nature in order to create goods shapes the distinctive character of the modern “worker.” He is originally an employee of nature insomuch as his environment provides both physical subsistence and the products which must be manipulated into new and sellable goods. This constructs the ethos of capitalist man - a fundamental reliance on nature to provide not only the means of life, but manipulative resources which establish his social location. However, as man increasingly appropriates nature for his own material ends, the direct impact of nature on his subsistence is relegated in favour of the value of worker-produced goods. The distinction between nature and object disappear as their roles are unified. In this way, the worker becomes a slave of his object (Marx 1969:109). He is constructed as a (dehumanised) worker, rather than an organic creation of the earth. His primary existence is that of a worker, rather than physical subject and as the role of worker increases, “the more powerful becomes the alien world of objects which he creates over and against himself” (Marx 1969:108). Labour itself becomes an object, as does the worker. Through this process of objectification of nature by worker, and worker by product, the concept of alienation emerges.

Man is isolated from his production through the enactment of currency as an exchange mechanism and the fetishism of the commodity which supplants social interaction with consumptive communication. The capitalist construction of labour is also indicative of a falsity which has so permeated existence as to be considered immutable. Men do not work out of need, but as a means to an end. Namely, those needs which cannot be satisfied without the acquisition of capital are provided for through work. Labour is thus personified, this occupation is “an alien…[and]… not his spontaneous activity. It belongs to another; it is the loss of the self” (Marx 1969:111). This also results in his estrangement from other men - and perhaps women, as will be discussed later. His activities of production are undertaken with the goal of obtaining a wage so he may indirectly purchase goods from other men. He is not only alienated from his production and himself (the natural essence of his being) but also from society. Peers are only regarded as other creators of commodities with whom he must compete for access to resources, wages and private property. When he is forced to contemplate his reality, his unhappiness and himself, “he confronts the other man… the other man’s labor and object of labor” (Marx 1969:114). While it would be imprudent to deduce complete social disintegration from this analysis, the alienation of man from his production, environment, self and others necessarily has important consequences in the aggregate. While man is initially objectified in his transition to worker, capitalist progression exacerbates this dehumanisation leading to the “state of being alienated, dispossessed, sold…” (Marx 1973:831).

Alienation of man is specific to the conditions of (late) capitalism. This is in contrast to the Hegelian view of alienation, which views the appearance of wage labour as subsequent to man’s initial state of dispossession (which is caused by all labour) (Marx, 1969:177). Alienation, for Hegel, is inevitable. Marx, in contrast, believes alienation is the direct result of societal organisation based on commodity production which is structured by market economies (Mandel-Novack:16). Waged labour for Marx is a cause rather than an effect of alienation. It is not all labour which is alienating (as Hegel believes) but only employment in a capitalist economy which provides the environment for man to become distanced from the reality of his production. This is an important distinction as the Hegelian explanation for alienation is “eternal[ly] anthropological,” while the Marxist view is a “transitory historical notion” (Mandel-Novack:17). Thus, it is possible for man to become reengaged with society, assuming new approaches to wage labour and commodity circulation are instituted.

It has been established that through the realities of a society predicated on capitalism, man becomes alienated from his production, himself and his peers. However, Marx does not explain how this estrangement from nature manifests itself in men’s relations with women. Friedrich Engels considers the role of women as reproducers of labour (in contrast to men, who reproduce capital) and notes that this biological reality is cause for the original division of labour (Engels, 166). However, with the relative emancipation of women from this biological determinism through feminism, the productive role of women is increasingly aligned with that of men. The relationships from which men are estranged are not only those with other men, but also women. Although feminism seeks to decommodify women, the realities of Marxist alienation are applicable to women’s new role as producer. The fetishism of commodities, hybrids of nature and society, is thus extended to women. Traditional ideas of women as things to be owned are combined with notions of women as alienated constructions of capitalist realities. Females are designated products through their sex and class.

Alienation results in both men and women being hybrids of their natural environments and creations of capitalism. The worker is an object who enters into relationships with other objects. This reification of the individual transforms the types of social connections he makes into interactions between things. In modern economies, “personal relationships occur purely as a result of relationships of production and exchange” and all humans are abstracted from each other (McLellan:73). All communication of man thus takes place between things - whether these are traditional conceptions of machines, or produced individuals. Man manipulates nature in order to create his social location, which is indicative of his ability to control the world around him. Through the possession of things (including people) his class situation is created, as is his sense of worth. Curiously, this is demonstrated in the way men display a sense of bravado in online communities devoted to Realdoll ownership. These dolls are referred to by female, rather than neutral pronouns, as if human. They are definitely “owned” and discussed as though they are real women who have been conquered by their possessors (Laslocky, 3). Men “cannot dominate their own social relationships until they have created them,” which is precisely what appears to be occurring between men and the manufactured women (Realdolls) they have paid for (McLellan:70). If it is possible to escape feelings of alienation through the reappropriation of abstracted people and goods, the Realdoll certainly represents a method of possessing a hybrid of human and machine which can be ultimately dominated. The appropriation of nature as exemplified in both alienated labour and scientific advancement creates the perfect opportunity for technologically advanced dolls to assume the role of woman and satisfy man’s need for control over his environment.

Herbert Marcuse also identifies the role of Marxist alienation in social formation, although his epistemology also considers the importance of psychoanalysis when drawing conclusions regarding man’s repressed existence. Civilisation is ultimately repressive as it must necessarily constrain both the biological and societal nature of man. Sigmund Freud notes that the history of man is also the history of repression (Marcuse:11). This is the beginning of civilisation, the abandonment of satisfying instinctual needs in favour of social cohesion. In order for society to function with the greatest levels of freedom for all, individual desires are repressed and in some cases, considered perversions. The repression inherent to modern civilisation, however, is a modern phenomenon which relies on the institutionalisation of moneyed economies and the division of labour. In contrast, primitive societies are free from worker alienation because of “the rudimentary (personal or sexual) character of the division of labor, and the absence of an institutionalized hierarchical specialization of functions” (Marcuse:152). It is this specialisation in the division of labour which provides the conditions for alienation to flourish. As already discussed, the nature of labour is changed under capitalism as men are not working for themselves, but for an amorphous system in which they are aware of their impotence. Men must submit to the dictates of this all encompassing, ultimately permeating social structure if they wish to exist within it. This alienation is exacerbated as men “do not live their own lives but perform pre-established functions” which dehumanise and (ironically) isolate them (Marcuse:45). Work is not for the fulfillment of personal needs, but instead provides the requirements for the greater good. Moreover, societies (such as ours) that are governed by the “performance principle” train men to forgo pleasure even during supposed recreation so that “alienation and regimentation spread into the free time” (Marcuse:47). The restrictions which are allegedly confined to employment permeate man’s existence so pervasively that his alienation is inescapable. The relations that are entered into with things, rather than humans, come to dominate his entire life, further ossifying alienation. This changes social relations into those “between persons as exchangeable objects” whose only roles are to increase methods of efficiency, management and production (Marcuse:102).

Alienation is institutionalised in the consciousness of man through the structures of society, which falsely convince him that his social role is solely that of worker-producer. Knowledge is manipulated through the education system, media, capitalism, etc. to keep men from an awareness of their true surroundings. This concealment of reality is necessary to uphold prevailing social norms and prevent insurrection. The “manipulated restriction of his consciousness” prohibits an individual awareness of the true nature of repression (Marcuse:103). Although the evolution of capitalism is predicated on making life more comfortable and increasing leisure time, this is clearly not the case. Instead of enjoying a relationship with mechanisms which mitigate labour, man is in constant conflict with a capitalist system which has taken over the distribution of such means. Marcuse discusses the “machine” which has appropriated these mechanisms of convenience; politically, corporately, culturally and educationally, structures have “weld[ed] blessing and curse into one rational whole” (Marcuse:xvii). Man becomes dependent on these structures as alienation is further entrenched into his being, and he does little to challenge this reality. The modification of once natural instincts is institutionalised through laws, values and relations so that man conforms to what is most productive for society rather than himself. This “management of instinctual needs” is vital for the continued dominance of the system of capitalism - merchandising is “made into objects of the libido,” so that buying and selling take the place of true human fulfillment (Marcuse:xii). The “civilising” processes of capitalist expansion not only alienate the worker, but force all pleasure to be either hidden from or organised by society. The only mode of escapism in this highly regulated reality is through capricious excursion into primordial desires.

The libidinal repression embodied in capitalism does not disrupt the social order so long as man desires what he is “supposed to.” These restrictions are universalised and rationalised so that they permeate both man’s conscience and his unconscious and become the collective “desire, morality and fulfillment” of man (Marcuse:46). His societal and sexual performances are assimilated so that man feels relatively satisfied and society is adequately reproduced. The only activities which are “protected from cultural alterations” and remain committed to the principle of pleasure are those of fantasy (Marcuse:14). It is obvious, however, that fantastical erotic aspirations - epitomised in, for example, the use of anthropomorphised sex dolls which are incapable of refuting any type of advance or leaving abusive situations - are generally considered immoral. Perhaps more importantly, the realm of the “perverse” has often been judged as any sexual fulfillment which is devoid of procreative intention. Perversions, therefore, “express rebellion against the subjugation of sexuality” to procreation and oppose those institutions which shape this morality (Marcuse:49). Marcuse also notes that the termination of the production of wasteful and destructive goods, signalling the end of capitalism and instigation of non-commodified pleasure will be driven by technology and liberated Life Instincts (xviii-xix). It is possible, then, that the continued employment of Realdolls (and eventually, it is assumed, robotic sexual partners) may fatally injure capitalism.

While this essay is largely unconcerned with the role of psychoanalysis in drawing its conclusions, the work of Freud so permeates Marcuse’s explanation of man’s inherent repression developing from capitalism that it must be briefly examined. Freud develops his theory of the “repressive mental apparatus” on two levels: The ontogenetic; repressed individual from infancy to his conscious social existence and the phylogenetic; repressed civilisation from the primal horde to the civilised state (Marcuse:20). While there is a recognition of the importance (for some) in examining primary instincts, the subconscious, etc., this is rejected in favour of discussing the social-material conditions which collectively embody the realities of an alienated workforce. There are, however, a few fascinating lines of psychoanalytic inquiry which may help demonstrate other reasons for the purchase of Realdolls by men. Realdolls cannot reproduce, which has been a marketable point for both buyers and those who support the integration of the dolls into society. Perversions which prevent procreation, therefore, are seen as an attempt to prevent the “reappearance of the father” (Marcuse:49). Alienation from oneself and society may be extended to include the realm of both offspring and the patriarch. Haraway, it will be shown, lauds the existence of mechanical representations of humans as providing the population control needed for the survival of humanity. Moreover, the aggregative effects of widespread individual repression generate a society which is largely “perverse.” In modern society, civilisation is a direct reflection of individual pathologies and by extension, the cure for personal disorders must be found in treating the general disorder, embodied in capitalist organisation. “Psychological problems therefore turn into political problems” (Marcuse:xxvii). Traditional distinctions between psychology, politics, economics and sociology become obsolete in favour of a holistic examination of man’s current condition.

Through the processes of alienation, the human dynamic becomes static. Existence is “mere stuff, matter, material” as all facets of society are highly structured and regimented (Marcuse:103). This de facto collectivised authoritarianism serves as a permanent and panoptical control mechanism. The unnaturally constructed morality needed for the maintenance of social cohesion unquestionably alters previously praised virtues. The isolating processes inherent in capitalism, this system of “animate and inanimate things” are effectively governed through administration, bureaucracy and economies (Marcuse:102). This regimentation of all components of life, legitimised through the guise of necessary modernisation and rationalisation, may eventually lead to the demise of capital. Marcuse argues that this process of oppression results in a drive for technical progress which may result in the antagonism of the previously upheld social division of labour and alienation (xxii). Civilisation will be altered through the social acceptance of new forms of technology. If the trend of an anthropomorphism of surrogate sexual-emotional partners continues, this will certainly be the case. If “the living links between the individual and his culture are loosened,” these links may be reinstated through non-living social conduits (Marcuse:104). Certainly, the Internet has provided not only (perhaps illusory) social acceptance, but also serves as a forum for men who own female replications to legitimise and enforce ostensibly perverse actions. It is commonly thought that the salvation of man from the chains of capitalist oppression will occur through technological progress. If it has become an arduous pursuit to form relationships and this is a result of alienation, then the general automisation of labour in a post-capitalism may rectify (or alter) preconceived notions of sexuality for the better. As notions of both civilisation and perversion are changed and Freudian explanations of repression become less valid, the future of society may well be predicated on social evolution which encourages the increase of interactions between humans and non-humans.

Bruno Latour stresses the importance of considering the roles of nonhumans in examining society. Through the metaphor of a nonhuman door closer which has definite social implications, Latour examines the character of the countless objects which substitute for humans. This metaphor is applicable when considering Realdolls and the human roles they fulfill. For Realdoll buyers, it has been impossible to find a sufficiently attractive woman who is willing to completely submit to the whims of her partner, always be young and never leave. Given the unlikelihood that these men will find such a women, they are left with two options. Either to discipline women in such a way that they will fulfill these functions (an obvious impossibility) or to “substitute for the unreliable people another delegated human character” who will perform this role (Latour:300, emphasis in original). The use of Realdolls as surrogate women, of course, hardly provides the same experience of living with a real woman, which for some is the appeal of using such a construction. “The unskilled nonhuman groom… presupposes a skilled human user,” in this case, a woman who embodies the desired characteristics unattainable for these men (Latour:301). Just as for Latour the ideal door closer might be a polite, low-paid porter, the success in finding one becomes such an impossibility that it is easier to substitute the humanised role with one of a slightly less efficient, but certainly more reliable, mechanised groom.

Humans and nonhumans, however, may act very differently from their expected roles. Latour notes that both groups are “undisciplined” and that their character expectations may differ from the reality of their enactment (Latour:305,307). Realdolls, despite personification by their owners, are not human. They may not provide the expected emotional support which their possessors desire or may fail in their sexual function. There are, for example, some erotic constructions which the Realdoll factory refuses to make - children, animals, celebrity replicas and (interestingly) those with armpit hair (Laslocky, 4). Moreover, the simple appeal for people to act sensibly is insufficient to keep nonhumans from being broken. The door closer and Realdoll may “go on strike” as they are both creations of humanity who appeal to responsive human characters. The Realdoll Doctor mentioned earlier is where these women are sent when they go on strike. Their work stoppage is frequently the result of sexual abuse. While some of the reasons Realdolls are sent away are for routine maintenance (joint tightening, vaginal replacement), there are many cases of maltreatment which can only be described as cruel: Realdolls have been mutilated and left in dumpsters, dismembered or snapped in half (Laslocky, 4).

Latour is particularly concerned with the discrimination by sociologists and society toward nonhumans. There is no question that these nonhumans which have been given responsibilities previously assumed by individuals are anthropomorphised. He notes that “anthropos” and “morphos” mean either “what has human shape or what gives shape to humans” (Latour:303). This argument is furthered in the following explanation:

…the groom [bride?] is indeed anthropomorphic, and in three senses: first, it has been made by men, it is a construction; second it substitutes for the actions of people, and is a delegate that permanently occupies the position of a human; and third, it shapes human action by prescribing back what sort of people should pass through the door (Latour:303).

Despite the obvious human-esque characteristics of door closers, Realdolls and other technological devices which serve as replacements for people, sociology has been reluctant to incorporate these evidently important nonhumans in its study. This discrimination is not confined to humans, however; nonhumans may leave aside “segments of the human population” as well (Latour:302). The door closer may be too heavy for children or the elderly, or prevent those carrying packages from entering - it is ageist and classist. Realdolls may also be discriminatory. They are extremely expensive (accessible only to a certain class in society) and bigoted toward the physically challenged because Realdolls may be too heavy for those in wheelchairs to lift up. This is particularly noteworthy, as one of the justifications for the continued manufacture of Realdolls is the sexual relations they provide for the physically challenged. Finally, the vast majority of Realdolls are white, blonde and thin, with the heaviest model being 113 pounds (Realdoll.com).

In order to combat the estrangement sociologists feel “when they fall upon the bizarre associations of humans with nonhumans,” Latour seeks to develop new techniques and vocabularies to address these complex imbroglios (298). Three terms which he wishes to introduce into sociological discourses are description, transcription and prescription which may be executed by both humans and nonhumans (Latour:306). These refer to, respectively, the semiotic endowment of competencies and roles, the movement of these scripts to more durable repertoires and how these responsibilities are ossified (similar to “role expectation” in sociology). As noted, these terms are manifested reciprocally, between the owner and his machine. With Realdolls, these designations are displayed through man’s expectation as to what a woman “should be,” the transfer of these beliefs to latex constructions and the performativity of the Realdolls once they are sold. The formation of these “scripts” of behaviour simultaneously influences both human and nonhuman behaviour. Given each actor’s “competence and pre-inscription” toward the other, the scripts of nonhumans are understood (sociologism) as is the behaviour prescribed to humans by machines (technologism) (Latour:307-8). These terms coalesce into a final philosophy of the role of nonhumans depending on how they are ordered along a linear chreod (”necessary path”) of pre-inscribed competencies (Latour:308). That is, in order for these nonhumans to be accepted as inherent parts of humanity, specific societal, political and economic phenomena have to occur. These events shape the realities of humans and nonhumans, complicating the effects each have on the other. “If the concepts, habits and preferred fields of sociologists have to be modified a bit to accommodate these new masses, it is a small price to pay” (Latour:310).

Nonhumans fulfill tasks that humans are unable, unwilling or incapable of. Realdolls assume a role that (presumably) most women would be disgusted with. Latour notes that humans use machines so often that their place is unquestionably accepted by society. The relations between humans create society, while those between nonhumans establish techniques (Latour:308). As organic women (and other workers) are displaced, their surrogates are upgraded and re-skilled. This can be seen through the evolution of the male ‘sex-toy’ from, for example, pornography to poorly-made vaginal constructions to Realdolls and, eventually, to sex robots. If, indeed “what defines our social relations is, for the most part, prescribed back to us by nonhumans,” then the rise of the Realdoll is symptomatic not only of alienation, but a shift away from human interaction and a rejection of procreative sex (Latour:310). All mechanical human delegates have a social role and with Realdolls this is especially obvious. Regardless of whether Realdolls are part of society, they are definitely influencing and reshaping humanity. Latour finishes his piece by noting that “studying social relations without the nonhumans is impossible” (Latour:310). Moreover, it has been shown that studying nonhumans without considering social relations is equally preposterous.

Donna Haraway’s epistemology combines feminism, Marxism and post-modernism to analyse the role of cyborgs as political metaphor and future representation. The cyborg she constructs is “a cybernetic organism, a hybrid of machine and organism, a creature of social reality as well as a creature of fiction” which not only exists, but may provide new opportunities for feminist theories to coalesce (Haraway:149). Although this essay has primarily dealt with men who are constructed through processes of domination, the role of women has been largely ignored. It is argued that while modern man is the result of nature and capitalist realities (class oppression), women are the product or nature and patriarchy (sexual oppression). Men are woman are “theorized and fabricated hybrids of machine and organism; in short, we are cyborgs” and moreover “this cyborg is our ontology; it gives us our politics” (Haraway:150).

Schisms in feminist theory have oppressed other women/cyborgs by viewing them as the other in the attempt to build a theory which can identify universal conditions of patriarchal domination and gender construction. Through taxonomy and discourse, feminist epistemologies are produced which “police deviation from official woman’s experience,” diluting female solidarity (Haraway:156). This essentialism has resulted in female normative characterisations perpetuated by both sexes which obstinately classify women. When both people and employment, for example, are labelled as “feminised” they are “made extremely vulnerable; able to be disassembled, reassembled, exploited as reserve labour force…” (Haraway:166). Men and women are increasingly hybridised with machines, and constructions such as the Realdoll are “feminised” both as representatives of women and as exploited labour, perhaps indicating projections of the changing nature of both sexes. Haraway argues that feminists such as Catherine MacKinnon shape women as non-beings through contentions that “[man’s] desire, not the self’s labour, is the origin of ‘woman’” (159). Such totalisations convince feminists that the category of “woman” does not truly exist, except as a realisation of man’s desire. Although Harway disputes this, it is argued that MacKinnon’s epistemology is crucial in understanding the origin of modern feminised cyborgs/women (perhaps providing a starting point for addressing the note on page one). Because paid labour, the traditional ontology of men, provides for the accumulation of knowledge of domination, it allows for man’s awareness of his subjugation and alienation under capitalist conditions and in turn man objectifies woman to gain the illusion of control (Haraway:158). Alienation and objectification combine with the organic states of, respectively, men and women to create human-machine hybrids which interact with each other biologically and mechanically. “To be constituted as another’s desire is not the same thing as to be alienated in the violent separation of the labourer from his product” (Haraway:159).

Cyborgs provide possibilities that allow the dynamics of men, women and machines to become more fluid and change notions of production and reproduction, sexuality and society. Sex and sex roles no longer constitute organic qualities which legitimise “ideologies of sexual reproduction” a fact which (ironically) is considered irrational by both “corporate executives reading Playboy [Realdoll owners?] and anti-porn radical feminists” (Haraway:162). Another argument put forth by proponents of Realdoll ownership is that, given overpopulation, men should be free to enjoy the benefits of a sexual relationship without the worry of unwanted pregnancy. Others maintain that preventing men who idolise such idealised creations of femininity from procreating will ultimately benefit civilisation (Laslocky, 5). Given the geometrical reproduction of dispossessed, alienated and objectified individuals, the possibilities of “simulacra; that is, of copies without originals” is a highly attractive solution to avoid perpetuating the mistakes of humankind (Haraway:165). This is not an argument for eugenics, but rather a statement of the need for inquiry as to how humanity will progress, given the increasing relationships between humans and nonhumans. It is possible that increases in cybernetic technologies will mean that people will no longer need to adapt to find a mate. If androids can effectively replace “living” humans, men and women may be able to exist happily without worry about the regeneration of the state. Admittedly, this science fiction is abstract. However, “cyborg replication is uncoupled from organic reproduction” and we are all cybrogs who are increasingly interacting and interfusing with other nonhumans, “requiring regeneration, not rebirth” (Haraway:150, 181). Sex and reproduction are dominant themes in texts of science fiction, exploring the future of humanity. They “structure our imaginations of personal and social possibility” and allow for a potential escape from alienation and objectification (Haraway:169). It is not difficult to imagine a world where sex and procreation are not necessarily connected, as cyborg gender is increasingly a “local possibility taking a global vengeance,” both literally and as a way to eliminate the categorisation of women (and men) which threaten to further separate and dominate those which do not fit strict taxonomies of femininity and masculinity.

If the future of (non)human regeneration is through cybernetic procreation, it will be fascinating to see how this materialises, especially given the reflection of capitalist patriarchy in current cyborg replication. Although Realdolls and their (technologically superior) offspring have been and will continue to be created by men, “illegitimate offspring are often exceedingly unfaithful to their origins,” so it is not yet clear how their ontogeny will proceed (Haraway:151). While the metaphorical cyborg seeks to eradicate the essentialism inherent in feminist divisions, automatons also struggle against “the one code that translates all meaning perfectly, the central dogma of phallogocentrism,” so that taxonomies based on sex and gender are effectively removed (Haraway:176). Cyborgs reject human myths which assume that with the removal of gender divisions, alienated labour or other inorganic constructions, ultimate happiness will be achieved. They are resolutely committed to “partiality, irony, intimacy and perversity” without the constraints of Western ideology (Haraway:151). Their prime motivation (as was with early humans) is that of survival. This is accomplished through the appropriation of texts and social tools which “marked them as the other” (Haraway:175). As relations between humans become more global, complex and insecure, it is expected that notions regarding family structure and gender roles will continue to evolve. The employment of a post-modernist epistemology by cyborgs rejects the importance of history and traditional reproduction directly confronting previously given notions regarding the nature of man. As with all cyborgs, Realdolls are unconcerned with their origins, mortality or morality. These monsters define “the limits of community in Western imaginations,” challenging humanity to re-evaluate their importance in the cosmos (Haraway:180).

Realdolls confuse boundaries, which Haraway argues should be both supported and responsibly analysed (150). Through this disorder of the natural and abnormal, virtuous and perverse, organic and constructed, we may relearn how to be human and discover our true ethos. The logos of Western male dominated capitalism can be reshaped to be more inclusive and universally relevant. While the occurrence of Realdolls may be seen as the imposition of a totalising and restraining model, ultimately furthering the oppression of women, it may (in time) provide the opportunity to rethink the nature of humans. Moreover, it may provide a space for people to accept “permanently partial identities and contradictory standpoints” (Haraway:154). The polis and oikos will be redefined through technologism and new social relations (Haraway:151). Politics will be structurally altered to include the reality of cyborgs and mechanised-human constructions. Thus, the cyborg will not only escape the realm of Foucaudian bio-politics, but construct new systems of social management (Haraway:163). Realdolls and their progeny will continue to transcend boundaries of feminist constructions, moving from exploited woman to revered goddess and, eventually, actualised cybernetic politician. Although the Realdoll’s existence is fraught with controversy, Haraway notes that “[she] would rather be a cyborg than a goddess” (181). Realdolls may one day share that sentiment.

An examination of some Realdoll owners has shown that the needs fulfilled by these anthropomorphised constructions of femininity transgress the sexual. Individuals such as Dave-Cat and Everhard prove that some men who own these dolls are seeking not only erotic satisfaction, but a need to reconstruct the social-emotional in their lives. These pseudo-human relations can be explained through the employment of a Marxist epistemology. The enactment of currency as a medium of exchange, combined with the resulting “commodity fetishism” change man’s relations with his labour, himself and his peers. He becomes socially detached and alienated as he perceives his place in the world is becoming uncertain. This situation is uniquely capitalistic, rather than inherent in man (as Hegel asserts) and leads to the changing nature of what it means to be human. Marcuse also subscribes to the notion of alienation in capitalist societies, although his epistemology is focussed on analysing the ontogenesis (growth of repressed individual) and phylogenesis (growth of repressive civilisation) originally espoused by Freud. Alienation results from an oppressive civilisation which advocates social control over perversions, despite the inherently natural drive for pleasure which “healthy” man requires. Through the automation of labour, unpleasant or otherwise unwanted tasks will be removed from society, perhaps altering offending structures and changing the nature of humanity.

Latour’s metaphor of the door closer as symbolising the changing character of relations between humans and nonhumans is easily extended to the reality of the Realdoll. As discrimination by humans and nonhumans occurs, there is a need for greater understanding of these relationships by sociologists. Not only through examining these interactions, but by changing the semiotics and discourse which define social conditions in a world being rapidly and decidedly altered by technology. Changing labour conditions, new notions of sexuality, gender and reproduction and social detachment are epitomised in the manufacture of Realdolls, whose “delegated human character” creates a new social role. It is necessary to examine the effects that humans and nonhuman constructions have on each other in order to properly determine the future of both sets of actors. Finally, Haraway’s extended metaphor of the cyborg shows that women have become victims of their own identifications and studies of women must seek an integrated approach to create a holistic feminism which is all inclusive. She notes that we are all cyborgs, but that men and women’s structured components arise from different sources of oppression. Through the development of cyborgs and cybernetic identities with post-modern epistemologies, possibilities for accommodating changing ideas about procreation, gender and pleasure are introduced into the field of academic inquiry and provide an opportunity to rethink human nature. Thus, cyborgs may become actualised and ultimately change society.

This essay was predicated on the belief that Realdolls are symptomatic of alienation and changing relations between humans and nonhumans. This has been proven through a variety of viewpoints and epistemologies. However, it has not addressed the future of Realdolls (and other cyborgs) and their resultant effect on the alienation of man. The works of Marx, Marcuse, Latour and Haraway show that, assuming cyborgs continue to develop and eventually become androids, they may (ironically) provide a conduit through which men and women can escape their repressed realities. It is certain that the Realdoll, and similar life-like sex constructions are beginning to assume their place in society. Moreover, there is already work being done on feminised constructions who more closely approximate women through robotics, voice-box installation and other sensual modifications such as smell, taste, etc. The Realdoll Corporation (only one of many companies producing such models) grossed over US$ 2 million last year with the factory employing 15 people full time (Laslocky, 1). There will soon be a feature film released titled “Lars and the Real Girl” which is based on the experience of a lonely man who finds (non-sexual) solace in a relationship with a Realdoll (IMDB). Through alienation, man has become alien; as women has become an object through objectification. However, it is hoped that as cyborgs progress through the aid of their progenitor, technology, they will continue to influence their interactions with humans and develop agencies and complex social systems of their own.

Works Cited

Engels, F., 1972. (Ed. Leacock, E.B.) The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State. New York: International Publishers. 1972.

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Marx, K. 1990. Capital: Volume One. (Trans. Ben Fowkes.) London: Penguin Books Ltd.

McLellan, D., 1972. Marx’s Grundrisse. 2^nd ed. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd.

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“Twenty days. Twenty thousand still images. A single message…. [T]he issue of global warming in a video created entirely by using still images.” Click here to see the film.

Mainly, or at least from my uninformed position, because it actually presents serious challenges to the positions of socialists of varying stripes. In short, it forces one, unless they choose not to read the book or uncritically shrug Hayek’s arguments off, to actually ponder and critically analyze the positions that they hold. The basic argument, that certain aspects of state planning produce the propensity towards greater power concentrations (’totalitarianism’, as he puts it), though not a truism, is certainly borne out in historical practice. Thus, for proponents of national state socialism, Hayek provides the perfect springboard for critically approaching the practical dilemmas of coordination, decision-making, power distribution and adjudication. Indeed, those radical democrats who decry technocratic rulership that, at least currently, goes hand in hand with national centralization will share at least one common point with Hayek. For the growing number that views the national state with the same distrust as capital, be they liberal anarchists, social libertarians, left communitarians or any of the myriad political distinctions out there, Hayek’s book is largely dated. Almost all of Hayek’s arguments assume the national state, which is increasingly being contested in the scholarly community - but there is still value in reading this book as a way of further contextualizing their positions within a long strand of intellectual history.

But of course, The Road to Serfdom is not without its flaws. Hayek’s use of rhetoric is conniving and distracts from his actual message, which he explicitly states is his intention. As an example, Hayek crudley equates “fascism” (which is almost never used in the book) with “socialism”. This is clearly an attempt to reframe the word to include the negativity of Britain’s Nazi enemies without regard to the qualitative differences between the two terms. It would be like claiming that ‘anarchism’, in the pejorative sense, is liberalism, in the Hayekian sense. Chapter 12 seeks to trace “The Socialist Roots of Naziism”, an endeavor with about as much validity as tracing the roots of British slavery to the rediscovery of Aristotle during the Renaissance. These two factors are clearly correlated, and indeed, many proponents of slavery did rely on the classic texts, but they are clearly not causally linked in any rigorous way. Hayek’s spuriousness and imprecision in making this argument leaves him open to ridicule, such as that German democracy sprang from Naziism - after all, Hayek says himself that the Nazi’s viewed themselves as practicing the ‘true democracy’.

But for me at least, these flaws are balanced by the intellectual honesty that Hayek displays in the first paragraph of the preface to his original book. He states, “This is a political book.[…] But, whatever the name, the essential point remains that all I shall have to say is derived from certain ultimate values. I hope I have adequately discharged in the book itself a second and no less important duty: to make it clear beyond doubt what these ultimate values are and on which the whole argument depends” (xlv, 1994 ed.). We may, and should, criticize those “ultimate” values for being utopian, selfish, insufficient, inefficient and irrational, almost all of which Hayek has a counter-argument for that will spark important debates, but we must also commend him for not hiding behind “scientific fact” or determinism, and (not entirely) relying on reductive and static conceptions of human nature, unlike his future ‘disciples’.

For me, the most fundamental fallacy Hayek makes is to equate the decentralization of power in society with the automatic propensity for competition (214). We have the historical ‘advantage’ of living through what Peck and Tickell call ‘roll-out neoliberalism’, where Schumpeterian creative destruction reigns free (ironically still carefully regulated of course), and can see that competition is only a classificatory means of changing who will hold power, rather than a progressive end, or even a sustainable process. Those who have subverted Hayek’s proscriptions in chapter 14, those unlucky recipients of neoliberal policy, have only redecorated for a new era of monopoly capitalism.

Avoiding The Road to Serfdom is an easy thing to do, if we choose to hole away in hospitable intellectual enclaves, but we do so at our peril, while those who manipulate Hayek’s ideas work to advance the interests of those whom he condemns (namely monopoloy capitalists, or just about all of them!). And for those who think that reading this book is unnecessary due to its antiquated publication date, it’s not, at least not to the uninitiated like myself. Just as Karl Polanyi’s The Great Transformation has garnered so much attention in recent years (an absolutely perfect complement and critique to Hayek, written in the same year by yet another Austrian - perhaps the subject of another post), The Road to Serfdom is still highly relevant for those engaged in the critique of contemporary North American society. I encourage everyone who is interested in the values underpinning socialism, and critical thought, to actually read this book - it will make criticizing Thatcher and Reagan a little easier!

Although a peak and decline in oil production is a geological certainty, we should question whether it is actually occurring right now. The supply of oil within the global market depends on much more than the geological realities of production. Governments of all sorts - Iran, Saudi Arabia, Venezuela, the United States, Russia - are heavily involved. Its corporate players are among the world’s most powerful and profitable businesses. The goings-on within the market are of interest to every other business. Speculation is rife. Examination of recent price increases need to consider these factors and many more.

One of the pieces of evidence offered by advocates of the theory is the uncertainty surrounding the actual quantity of oil in the Middle East. The size of the reserves controlled by the big oil exporting countries is unknown. There is some evidence that Saudi Arabia, in particular, has routinely overstated the amount of known reserves. However, although these countries do not want to lose the political clout they enjoy from their control of the great global lubricant, it is not difficult to see how they benefit from such uncertainty. Uncertainty drives up prices; higher prices, higher earnings.

Another source of uncertainty has been the invasion and occupation of Iraq. This one-sided war is routinely labelled as a ‘War for Oil’ by its critics. The standard idea behind the slogan is that the U.S. wishes to control the global oil supply in order to ensure the easy access required by its corporations. However, the war has hardly brought an increase in supply. Instead, it has coincided with a rather drastic increase in oil and gas prices. The oil exporting countries are hardly the only beneficiaries. The oil companies have been enjoying record profits.

An increase in prices, rather than supply, as an outcome of the invasion, was predicted by political economists Jonathan Nitzan and Shimshon Bichler in their 2003 article “It’s all about oil.” The pair challenged the conventional wisdom that the war was meant to undermine OPEC (Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries) and ensure the free flow of oil. They demonstrated that the fortunes of the oil companies and OPEC move together. Far from seeking to loosen the supposed iron grip of the dictators who control the global oil supply, the corporate petroleum giants have benefitted from their interventions. In fact, the invasion of Iraq was partially motivated by the the oil cartel’s ineffectiveness at raising prices. Nitzan and Bichler have shown that ‘energy wars’ in the Middle East have followed upon periods of deaccumulation by the oil giants relative to the members of what they call ‘dominant capital.’ For example, in 1988, although the return on equity of what Nitzan and Bichler call the ‘Petro-Core’ was more than 12%, the Fortune 500 - a proxy for dominant capital - had returns greater than 15%. This means that the oil giants fell behind their capitalist cohorts: they failed to beat the average. For the entire second half of the 80s the Petro-Core lost ground. The situation was not reversed until the early 90s when Bush the First invaded Iraq (see Nitzan and Bichler, 2002, ch. 5).

However, from the differential perspective it becomes clear that the interests of other capitalists are not being served by the wars in the Middle East. When the oil companies are accumulating relative to dominant capital as a whole, others must be losing - although we cannot tell exactly who unless we disaggregate the picture. An end to the U.S. occupation will likely come when the (relative) losers within dominant capital finally exert sufficient pressure upon the politicians in Washington. The oil companies realize that they cannot hold court indefinitely and it is likely the political-military tide will turn against them. Yet, they would like to retain their accumulatory advantage. If military adventures can no longer drive up oil prices, then perhaps talk of diminishing supplies will.

Peak oil will come. When it does, its effects on the global economy are uncertain. In the meantime, the oil companies must keep the following plates spinning: faith in oil as the energy source of capitalism, a high enough price to remain on top of the corporate world, a low enough and steady enough price to avoid contributing to a lengthy recession, or even a depression. While the differential perspective on accumulation makes it clear that growth is not synonymous with the corporate interest - as long as everyone else is declining faster than you, then you are differentially accumulating - depressions are dangerous for their unpredictability and their potential to threaten the capitalist status quo (see, Nitzan, 2001). Undoubtedly, one of these plates will drop. The question is: which one? The consequences of the answer to that question will come more immediately than the geologically necessary peak in production and should be of greater concern.

Nitzan, Jonathan. (2001). “Regimes of differential accumulation:mergers, stagflation and the logic of globalization.” Review of International Political Economy, Vol. 8, No. 2, pp. 226-274.

Nitzan, Jonathan & Shimshon Bichler. (2002). “The Weapondollar-Petrodollar Coalition.” The Global Political Economy of Israel. London: Pluto Press.

—–. (2003). “It’s all about oil.” News From Within, Vol. 19, No. 1, pp. 8-11.

Hamilton, Tyler. (January 3, 2008). “Is oil supply at its peak?” Toronto Star, B1, B4.

* Photo Source: www.gerry.odonoghue….

Fair trade is a response to problems experienced with the advance of global free market capitalism—particularly to the instability of international commodity markets and to human and environmental problems of monocultural production for export. The established body to certify fair trade products, Fair Trade Labeling Organizations International (FLO), seeks to regulate trade in certain commodities, such as coffee and bananas, by setting minimum prices and promoting means to strengthen producer communities. By subordinating the market to the needs of communities, fair trade measures suggest the relevance of the theoretical work of Karl Polanyi.

My paper will rely on Polanyi’s key “conceptual tool,” on what he calls “the distinction between the embedded and the disembedded condition of the economy in relation to society” (1957: 81). The human “economy is, as a rule, submerged in … social relations” (Polanyi 1957: 65). However, in a process of disembedding, “an ‘economic sphere’” emerges and becomes “sharply delimited from other institutions of society” in such a way that they become “dependent” on the economy (1947: 63). Whereas an embedded economy is integrated with social life, a disembedded economy makes society something separate. He further draws attention to a “double movement”: the process of the disembedding of the economy from society meets with efforts to subordinate the economy to the needs of society through an at least partial re-embedding.

By using Polanyi in this paper, I follow the work of others, who have suggested the relevance of a Polanyian framework to understand current neoliberal trends in the global economy as an intensified process of disembedding. Although Polanyi believed that he had seen an end to the “self-regulating market” in the 1930s, it has been suggested that neoliberal developments in global finance involve a revitalization of the liberal market ideal (Helleiner; Benería; Burawoy). Under Polanyi’s influence, moreover, Laura T. Raynolds (2000) has explicitly described fair trade as part of a process of “re-embedding” through devices such as regulating prices, providing social premiums, and making direct links between producers and distributors. Fair trade might thus be seen as part of a “countermovement” to subordinate economic relations to social needs and processes.

Polanyi contrasted “the principle of economic liberalism” with “the principle of the social protection” (1944: 138), a principle that involves what Raynolds calls a process of re-embedding. The paper will argue that fair trade opposes the liberal free market rationale and presents an alternative that tends to re-embed the economy in social relations. Viewed in this way, fair trade can be considered part of a larger countermovement—evident in contemporary struggles for global justice that challenge the self-regulating market promoted by economic liberalism and propose alternative, more equitable, models of economic life, based on social protection.

Fair trade poses a challenge to the liberal view that free trade is fair by proposing a form of economic organization that follows an alternative logic in prioritizing cooperation and the well being of communities. Yet, fair trade’s ability to challenge the logic of unrestricted capitalism upheld by neoliberalism depends, at least in part, on whether the principles and standards of fair trade are actually being met in practice. I will draw on the case of the Windward Islands and the WTO dispute to demonstrate tendencies of disembedding, and will then turn to a discussion of the case of fair trade bananas in St. Vincent in order to demonstrate that, despite its problems, the fair trade system there has often substantially reached its goals, thereby contributing to tendencies toward re-embedding among producer communities.

Although clearly contributing to the well being of communities, fair trade is no doubt of limited significance if considered simply on its own. Nonetheless, through its promotion of an alternative economic logic, fair trade converges with much of the larger movement for global justice. Indeed, fair trade producers often view themselves as part of this movement and participate directly in its struggles. This paper first turns to an examination, at a conceptual level, of the economic logic of fair trade in relation to the movement for global justice. Attention then turns to an extended examination of fair trade practices, particularly in regard to banana production in the Windward Islands. Focusing especially on the island of St. Vincent, the paper sketches the historical context from which fair trade banana production arose, then examines fair trade practices on the island, and finally concludes with an analysis of the significance of the fair trade system both for the economy of the island and for the larger pattern of resistance to neoliberal globalization.

1. Fair Trade and Global Justice

The fair trade system resists the logic of unrestricted capitalism by offering a model of trade that subordinates economic laws of supply and demand to minimum prices while also advancing social and ecological standards that prioritize the needs of producer communities. Fair trade can thus be related to other initiatives that seek to regulate, restrict, or bypass the free market. Such efforts in the global justice or anti-globalization movement can be considered under Polanyi’s framework of the “double movement”.

Several contemporary authors have used a Polanyian interpretation to consider trends toward neoliberal globalization since the 1970s, that is, the deregulation of national markets for the freer movement of capital in an integrated global market. Such an interpretation would first point to the creation of the neoliberal market, and second, to the countermovement that emerges to reduce the social suffering produced under the free market. Helleiner, for instance, suggests some emerging “countermovements,” including transnational initiatives for a Tobin Tax as well as more local initiatives for alternative local currencies (157-159). Fair trade, another such initiative, challenges some key claims of neoliberalism, particularly the revival of the Smithian ideal of the liberal self-regulating market.

Polanyi has also challenged this ideal, arguing that before the early 19th century rise of economic liberalism in Britain the economy was “submerged” in social relations. However, there came a dramatic change when the relationship was reversed and society “was submerged in the economic system” (1947: 65). The economy’s disembedding, the cause of much human suffering, was resisted by a “collectivist” countermovement to re-embed the economy through measures of social protection. These processes of disembedding and re-embedding are what Polanyi calls a “double movement.”

Fair trade standards exhibit a tendency toward such re-embedding. The means include minimum prices and separate social premiums for development projects chosen by communities, cooperatives with democratic organization, the elimination of middlemen through direct and long-term trading relationships, observance of labour regulations set by the International Labor Organization, and methods of production attuned to health and environmental issues (Nicholls and Opal 6-7, 48; Waridel 65; Raynolds 2000: 300; FLO). Although fair trade is most commonly associated with minimum prices, the system also prioritizes the subsistence of small-scale producer communities by channeling funds, in the form of a “social premium,” to strengthen community infrastructures and basic services. The fair trade system also promotes adherence to social and ecological standards. Overall, the tendency to re-embed the economic into the social involves centering commodity production around the primary goal of providing for the well-being of producer communities. To consider the relevance of these theoretical considerations in a practical context, let us now turn to the case of fair trade banana production in the Windward Islands, beginning with attention to the historical context.

2. Historical Context of the Banana Industry in the Windward Islands

Banana production involves a history based in colonialism and the dominance of a few companies that control the majority of the banana trade. The Caribbean started producing bananas for export in the early 20th century following a decline of the sugar industries. Jamaica was the first country in the Caribbean to export bananas to the United Kingdom, followed by the Windward Island countries of Dominica, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and Grenada. St. Vincent and St. Lucia were the last of the Windward Islands to gain formal independence, which came in 1979. Indeed, the historical emergence of bananas in the Caribbean and the decline of its sugar production developed out of a colonial system of agricultural production that had depended on large-scale monocultural production and slave labour.

This colonial legacy involves both Britain’s historical commitment to provide preferential market access to its colonies and its postcolonial commitment, as part of the larger European Community, to provide tariff-free quotas to former colonies in the African Caribbean Pacific (ACP) region. Britain and the European Union’s “Banana Regimes” have taken a regulated-market approach, placing tariffs and quotas on non-ACP or “dollar bananas” (bananas grown in Latin America for US owned corporations). In contrast, the United States has taken a more liberal free-trade approach to bananas, imposing no tariffs or quotas and in fact challenging such control of banana imports by the EU on the grounds that it contradicts the rules of free trade as promulgated by the WTO and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT).

The colonial and postcolonial systems of preferential access themselves exhibit characteristics of what Polanyi calls an “embedded” economy. Preferential access takes account of the fact that banana production on small Caribbean farms is several times more expensive than production on large Latin American banana plantations. Caribbean banana farmers have never been in a position to compete with Latin American exports, and preferential market access takes account of the specific needs of the Caribbean communities. As we will see, the regulated market system of Windward Island banana exports to the UK was challenged in the 1990s and since then has undergone a process of liberalization, or disembedding in Polanyi’s terms. The Windward Islands have resisted such liberalization, however, in a way that resembles what Polanyi called a “countermovement” in the case of Britain.

Britain introduced mechanisms to encourage the export of bananas from Jamaica in the early 1900s and later, following WWII, from the Windward Islands. In the search for alternatives to sugar production, bananas became a viable option for small-scale Caribbean farmers because bananas could be produced and harvested on a year-round basis. During the early 20th century the Windward Islands were not serious competitors with Jamaican bananas; however, following the end of WWII the small Islands began producing significant quantities of bananas for export, cutting into the Jamaican share of the UK banana market and taking part in the regulated system of preferential access for colonies. Prior to WWII the Windward Islands had supplied a small amount of bananas for export to Canada. In 1934 Dominica, St. Lucia, and Grenada signed 5-year contracts with the Canada Banana Company [owned by the United Fruit Company (UFCO)] to supply bananas for export to Montreal. St. Vincent signed a 5-year contract the following year. Large-scale banana exports from the Windward Islands, however, ended in 1942 due to war-time shipping problems.

Following WWII the Caribbean banana industry significantly changed with Britain importing reduced quantities of Jamaican bananas while also importing bananas from the Windward Islands. In conjunction with private enterprise, the British government played a large role in the growth of Windward Islands banana industries in the 1950s. For instance, the UK offered a guaranteed market to its colonies by limiting banana imports from Latin America to a 4000 ton annual quota (Meyers 20). Farmers could also get interest-free loans to purchase uncultivated land for clearing and growing bananas. According to Peter Clegg, the UK government provided significant assistance toward the development of banana industries in the Windward Islands, “in the forms of grants and loans for items such as the importation of banana suckers, the creation of nurseries, disease control, fertilizers, and for the training of agricultural officers in methods of banana cultivation” (8). In 1956 the UK tripled its import tariff on non-Commonwealth bananas, thus strengthening the protected market for Commonwealth bananas and encouraging the growth of the industries. Total exports from the Windward Islands more than quadrupled in five years, increasing from 19,700 tons in 1954 to 88,500 in 1959.

The postcolonial role of the UK and the larger European Community in providing a regulated market for bananas has developed out of this earlier commitment to assist the Caribbean colonies to increase their bananas exports. The system of preferential access, established in the early 20th century, lasted for most of that century, continuing after formal independence in the Caribbean, even after the advent of the European Community’s Banana Protocol under the first Lomé Agreement (1975). The system of preferential access also took account of the greater cost of production in the Caribbean compared to Latin America. In the Windward Islands bananas are produced on small family farms that average less than one hectare (2.4 acres) and are located on hilly terrain under threat of droughts and hurricanes. Shipping costs are also particularly high since ships have to stop at multiple ports. In comparison, large Latin American farms of several tens or hundreds of hectors occupy flat lands, have richer soil, that gives higher yields, and benefit from economies of scale. In a regime of open, unregulated competition with Latin American banana producers, the Windward Islands would simply have no chance of maintaining an adequate market share.

The British and European systems of preferential access for ACP bananas demonstrate characteristics of an embedded economy, at least to the extent that the system promotes the maintenance of producer communities through direct intervention into economic relationships. Indeed, the development of banana production in the Windward Islands has been closely linked with building infrastructure and “raising the quality of life in the islands” (Meyers 21). Since the banana industries developed out of histories of slavery and colonialism, it is evident that the economic system was not submerged in social relations and was not devoted to the needs of producers. Although the banana industries were promoted by Britain to serve its own interests, the tradition of preferential access for ACP producers clearly runs counter to the logic of the liberal free market.

A clash between the regulated and free trade systems developed mainly in the 1990s with the establishment of the European Single Market and the WTO. The system of preferential access was challenged by a process of liberalization in the 1990s that sought to fully disembed the economy, changing it into a form that was unresponsive to the needs of producer communities. This process of liberalization has significantly undermined the livelihoods of small-scale Caribbean producers in a way that leads us to question the rules of free trade.

3. The Liberalization of the Banana Trade

The decade-long banana trade dispute between the US and the EU has drastically altered a system of preferential access and has led to a significant reduction in banana production in the Windward Islands, particularly harming small-scale producers. The Windward Islands make up about 1% of world trade, but more than half of the people on the islands depend on bananas for their livelihood. More than 70% of the population in St. Vincent alone relied on income from the banana industry in 1998 (Paggi and Spreen 11; Sheller 12). Comparatively, the two largest banana companies, each holding over 25% of the world market, are the US-based Dole Foods Company and Chiquita Brands International (Banana Link).

The process of liberalizing the UK banana market was encouraged by the development of the Single European Market in 1992, which involved the formation of an EU Banana Regime that would exist within a more liberal free trade system but still maintain past commitments of preferential access for former colonies. The new Banana Regime was based on a regulated system of quotas, tariffs and import licences. The 12 “traditional” ACP producer countries (including the Windward Islands) were given tariff-free entry for their bananas up to a country-specific quota based on best annual exports prior to 1992. However, US challenges and the establishment of the WTO and its Dispute Settlement Process in 1994 would threaten the EU Banana Regime, and would start a rapid process of liberalizing banana markets.

A WTO dispute, initiated in 1995, mainly by the US, involved three major issues of conflict over the fairness of the EU Banana Regime: tariffs, quotas, and import licenses (Josling 178-182). The WTO panel submitted its report in May 1997, largely supporting the complaint. The WTO decision was, however, far from the end of the dispute. The EU proposed a new Banana Regime but it was rejected by the US and later the WTO panel, which authorized the US to introduce import duties on certain EU goods. In 2001 the EU dramatically altered its Banana Regime in order to finally reach an agreement with the US.

The new EU Banana Regime has significantly altered the historical pattern of regulated preferential access for former colonies, establishing a more liberalized system—one with fewer trade regulations—that has negatively affected small-scale Caribbean banana producers. Although these producers clearly had the most to lose throughout the WTO dispute, they were not included in the dispute process (Josling 178; Godfrey). The outcome of the WTO dispute has reinforced the free trade ideal of the “self regulating market” as the most efficient—and therefore best—system of trade. In practice, the result of trade liberalization has been to further “dis-embed” the economic system, making it increasingly unresponsive to the needs of producer communities.

The new regime has contributed to a mass withdrawal of Windward Islands farmers from banana production because they cannot afford to produce bananas without a regulated market granting them preferential access. Indeed, since 1992 total annual banana exports from the Windward Islands have dropped precipitously from 274,539 tonnes to 61,267 in 2006 (WIBDECO). This 2006 Windward Islands total is less than the amount St. Vincent alone exported in 1992. Banana exports from St. Vincent have fallen from 77,361 tonnes in 1992 to only 15,761 tonnes in 2006 (WIBDECO).

Such dramatic changes to the banana industries of the Windward Islands are significant threats to the national economies of these islands, which are heavily dependent on agricultural exports and tourism as their main sources of GDP. Of course, such changes are also most dramatically felt by the thousands of farmers who depend on bananas as their primary source of income. The total number of banana growers in the Windward Islands has fallen from about 24,000 in the 1990s to about 5000 in 2005 (Fair Trade Manager, WINFA). Farmers have few alternatives to banana production, and those who have left have mainly moved into the city, found employment in the tourist industry, emigrated from their country, become unemployed, or turned to producing other crops, particularly to illegal marijuana (Meyers 150, Godfrey 7). Indeed, the shift to producing marijuana has become common in St. Vincent, where it is now “the mainstay for a significant part of the population” (Myers 151) bringing about thirty times more profits than bananas (Godfrey 7).

Confronted by trade liberalization since the early 1990s, farmers in the Windward Islands have not been passive victims of the change, but instead have participated in large-scale protests and efforts to establish new alternative markets for their bananas. The case of the Windward Islands demonstrates, as we will see, a local movement that places itself within the context of the larger countermovement. The alternative fair trade market for bananas has been introduced in the Windward Islands as a way to allow some farmers to continue producing bananas and has, moreover, tended to re-embed the economy so as to directly serve the needs of producer communities.

4. Fair Trade Bananas in St. Vincent

We will now turn to a discussion of fair trade bananas in St. Vincent, which is based on fieldwork I conducted in St. Vincent in November 2006, consisting of interviews with 15 participants in fair trade activities. The purpose of this research was to gain an understanding of how fair trade works in practice and to see whether the people involved believe that fair trade is helping to better sustain communities of banana producers. As we will see, despite limitations with the system, fair trade in St. Vincent appears to have become crucial for producers. Fair trade representatives in St. Vincent estimate that fair trade bananas account for 80% of the export market. Fair trade has thus helped respond to the effects of the new liberalized Banana Regime, offering an alternative market for those banana producers who remain.

I visited St. Vincent for nine days and spoke with six representatives of the organizations that coordinate fair trade in St. Vincent and with nine fair trade farmers (five men and four women). Several days were spent in Kingstown, the capital of St. Vincent, interviewing representatives from the Fair Trade Labeling Organizations International (FLO), the Windward Islands National Farmers’ Association (WINFA), the St. Vincent Banana Growers Association (SVBGA), and the Windward Island Banana Development and Exporting Company (WIBDECO). My interviews with these representatives helped give me a picture of how the fair trade system operates in St. Vincent and who the key players are.

International fair trade standards are developed by FLO, which was first established in 1997 and is an association of 21 national labeling initiatives such as Transfair USA, Transfair Canada and the Fairtrade Foundation (UK), which are responsible for certifying licensees to deal in fair trade products. FLO is an umbrella body for the national initiatives and is made up of two organizations: FLO International e.v., the international non-profit association that develops fair trade standards, and FLO-Cert GMBH, a company established in 2003. FLO-Cert is the International Certification Body for fair trade producers and traders and was established by FLO in order to act in compliance with the ISO Standards for Certification Bodies (ISO 65). Fair trade standards are designed to organize the trading system in a way that provides for the needs of producer communities. Such communities of small-scale producers must be part of an organization that acts through democratic procedures to promote the social and economic development of its members, adheres to the International Labour Organization’s standards, and administers the use of a social premium based on community development projects decided upon by community members.

The organizational structure of fair trade in St. Vincent and the Windward Islands starts, at the international level, with FLO International, which has certified WINFA as the fair producer group for the Windward Islands (see Figure 1). WINFA is a non-governmental organization made up of farmers that was formed in 1982 as a group to “represent, protect and promote the interests of thousands of farmers in the Windward Islands” (WINFA pamphlet). WINFA has fought against the WTO changes to the EU Banana Regime and against UK initiatives to sign a free trade agreement with Caribbean countries. WINFA approached FLO in the late 1990s in order to arrange the development of fair trade as way to provide an alternative market for Windward Islands bananas, and by July 2000 had facilitated the first shipments of fair trade bananas.

Figure 1: Fair Trade Structure in Windward Islands

All banana exports from the Windward Islands are shipped by WIBDECO, incorporated as a private company in 1994 with shares held by all the governments and banana growers’ associations of the four islands. WIBDECO is responsible for managing the marketing, buying and transportation of Windward bananas and the payment of fair trade FOB prices to the SVBGA, which in turn, is responsible for paying farmers the fair trade farmgate price and for other operational and technical advice and monitoring. The social premium of $1 US/18.14 kg box is paid directly by WIBDECO to the National Fair Trade Committees of each of the islands.

Fair trade banana farmers on each of the islands are divided into several fair trade groups, which meet each month in schools, community centers, churches, homes, etc. to discuss the challenges that they are facing as well as the use of the social premium. In St. Vincent there are 17 groups of fair trade farmers with approximately 25 to 100 registered fair trade members per group. Each group has its own set of organizational officers, consisting of a chair, a treasurer, a secretary and a national committee representative, who are elected by the group each year. With their national representatives, the fair trade groups also participate at the National Committee level. The National Committee, with officials elected as in the smaller groups, meets at least once a month to develop a work plan for the use of the social premium. The committee and group members attend an annual General Assembly, which meets to vote on the National Committee’s work plan and to hear a report about the social projects undertaken in the previous year.

In addition to speaking to representatives of the groups and organizations that play significant roles the operation of fair trade banana production, I was able to speak with farmers at the main loading depot in Kingstown, on several farms in Georgetown, and at the Langley Park depot. I spoke with the farmers rather informally, asking them questions about how long they had produced bananas, what changes they had experienced over the years, what a typical day was like, what fair trade has meant for them, and whether fair trade had, overall, made things better or worse.

My discussions with the farmers and with representatives led me to a clear conclusion that those involved in banana production in St. Vincent consider fair trade necessary for maintaining exports to the UK. All participants pointed to several advantages of fair trade to themselves, their families, and their communities. Such advantages—in the form of higher prices, financial security, community development projects and better health standards—all provide for the needs of banana producing communities and constitute ways, moreover, in which fair trade is contributing toward tendencies to re-embed economic life in social relationships. The advantages of fair trade production in the case of St. Vincent are similar to benefits pointed to in other case studies conducted on fair trade bananas and coffee. Nonetheless, fair trade in practice also has several notable limitations, evident in St. Vincent as well as other cases.

Out of the nine farmers that I interviewed most of them said that their families had been producing bananas for two or three generations. One farmer had recently taken over her mother’s farm and had been producing bananas herself for only five years. Two of the farmers had been producing for over 10 years, five for over 20 years, and one for over 35 years. The farmers all cultivated small plots of land of about 2-5 acres, depended on banana production as a main or sole source of income, and had long family histories in the production of bananas. All of the farmers described problems involving increased pressures in banana production throughout the 1990s and the decline in prices in that period. Although some of the farmers were not satisfied with the price they get now as fair trade farmers, most emphasized that the fair trade pricing system represents an improvement. One farmer described her dependence on bananas by saying that “As a farmer and as a woman I have no other alternative. I have to keep going. Everything depends on it”.

Fair trade guarantees a minimum farmgate price of $ 7.60 US/18.14 kg box, a country-specific price that applies to all the Windward Islands and that is intended to provide price stability for farmers when market prices are low. The fair trade minimum price is determined by FLO in consultation with producer organizations, such as WINFA. This guaranteed price is called a minimum because if market prices are higher or if importers can pay higher prices, then farmers are paid the higher price. The social premium of $1 US/box, which is entirely separate from the minimum price, is used to fund community projects. Comparatively, the fair trade prices paid to the farmers—varying according to pack type—are significantly higher than prices paid to farmers for generic pack types. According to the SVBGA’s price list in February 2007, banana farmers were paid, at most, 29% more per box for fair trade bananas than they were paid for the lowest price for generic bananas. This tendency for the fair trade price to be higher is consistent with other Windward Islands. In his study of fair trade farmers in St. Lucia, Mark Moberg indicates that fair trade growers were paid, at most, 41% more for fair trade bananas than they were for the lowest price generic bananas (10).

In addition to better prices and better price stability, fair trade guarantees farmers a long-term contract (of at least one year) in which importing companies commit to buy their bananas. The National Fair Trade Committee gives farmers a weekly fair trade quota based largely on what farmers say they can produce that week. Farmers harvest and sell the bananas weekly and are paid fortnightly. In addition to predictable schedules, farmers in financial difficulty have access through fair trade to a revolving small loan fund (from which they can borrow up to $1500 EC) to assist them with their production problems.

Price stability and long-term contracts offered in the fair trade system are helping channel funds to banana producers and their families. Without a regulated market St. Vincent producers simply could not compete with Latin American producers. Indeed, several of the officials and farmers that I spoke with during my visit emphasized the importance of having the fair trade alternative market. They told me that had it not been for the introduction of fair trade, the banana industry in St. Vincent would have completely collapsed.

Whereas higher prices have been good for individuals and families, thus indirectly benefiting producer communities on the whole, the fair trade social premium is designed to directly fund community development projects. According to WINFA’s Fair Trade Manager, when WINFA got involved in fair trade the organization “had to set up the necessary structures to facilitate farmers’ participation in the decision-making process”. WINFA coordinated the establishment of community fair trade groups with annual elections of its board and its national representative.

During the meetings, the farmers decide what community projects are to be funded by the social premium. Their participation is crucial for ensuring that such projects are decided by the producers. The FLO Liaison Officer expressed enthusiasm for the increased participation of growers in decisions involving their futures. She said that, from her point of view, “the real democracy, in terms of the participation of farmers, happens in the fair trade groups before the General Assembly meets….They vote for projects in the group meetings, and this is very democratic from my point of view”. She also emphasized that such groups have helped encourage the participation of women in decision-making projects. Women have taken on an increasingly important role in banana production, many being single mothers in need of healthcare and daycare for their children. Women’s involvement in the groups has helped to advance the development of projects that specifically address their needs as mothers. Out of the 17 representatives on the National Committee, five are women.

The decisions made at the monthly meetings determine what social projects are most needed in each community, with possibilities ranging widely from chairs for people to sit on during their meetings to preschools and health clinics. The social projects funded by the social premium are perhaps the clearest way in which fair trade is directly helping to sustain communities. Records supplied to me by the National Fair Trade Committee during my time in St. Vincent show that $100,000 EC was budgeted for social projects in 2006. These funds were allocated for 36 community projects and nine national projects.

In some cases there was more than one on-going project in a community. Of the community projects, the majority were for schools and pre-schools. There were 22 school projects in total, with the social premium paying for building materials, chairs, books, computers, printers, cots, fans, refrigerators, gas cookers, and other supplies. Of the farmers I spoke with, several stressed that the fair trade social premium goes toward helping their children and future generations. Social premium funds also went toward three health projects to provide medical equipment, including diabetic supplies; toward five sports projects, providing uniforms for cricket, football, and softball teams; and toward one road project. Indeed, the FLO Liason Officer emphasized the significance of the road project in St. Croix. Before the road project some farmers had to walk more that two miles to load their bananas. This is no longer necessary, and the project has thus significantly improved the lives of people in the St. Croix community.

The national projects that are funded by the social premium mainly provide farmers with basic social and medical services. For instance, the revolving loan fund, mentioned above, is a national project. Other projects include a scholarship program, a medical health program for farmers, a retirement fund for farmers, a disaster relief fund, a program to house abandoned children (Liberty Lodge), and donations to the Salvation Army. The WINFA Fair Trade Manager indicated the importance of these national projects for the well being of banana farmers. For instance, the medical fund goes toward subsidizing the cost of annual medical checks for farmers. Since St. Vincent is subject to tropical storms, one of the groups proposed the development of a disaster relief fund, which the National Committee included its work plan, and the fund is now a national project. Thus, even national projects are influenced by the initial ideas of fair trade group members, whose suggestions are then taken to the National Committee by their representative.

Social projects funded by the fair trade social premium have significantly helped in the development of infrastructure and basic social and health services for banana producing communities. Such services are helping female producers by offering child care as well as medical attention through a health program that provides regular PAP Smear tests. Funds are also allocated to regular clean-up programs to remove waste from streams. Indeed, in addition to establishing specific programs for healthcare, fair trade sets environmental standards that ban the use of certain pesticides. Farmers who operate next to rivers are required to have grass barrier buffer zones of 16 feet without chemical application to reduce chemical run-off into rivers (Fair Trade Manager, WINFA), and one informant emphasized that a significant change that had come from fair trade was a reduction in the use of pesticides. Two farmers I spoke with said that fair trade means that they can do their work with less concern for their health. According to one farmer, fair trade means “growing a much more healthy food since, for example, fair trade uses less pesticides”. Another farmer spoke about now having to wear an apron and gloves when using chemicals and commented that fair trade means “you’re taking care of your health”.

Fair trade in practice has thus offered many advantages to farmers by imposing mechanisms to regulate the market so that it serves the needs of producing communities. Fair trade standards have facilitated the development of increased prices, long-term financial stability, community projects, enhanced participation in decision-making, increased access to health services, and new safety and environmental requirements for banana farmers in St. Vincent. Together, such benefits have contributed to a process of re-embedding the economy in social relations, promoting the “principle of social protection” instead of relying strictly upon the liberal principle of a distribution of benefits to individuals through the market mechanism.

Other case studies on fair trade bananas and coffee demonstrate similar overall advantages—as well as certain limitations—of fair trade in practice. In her study of fair trade banana production in the Dominican Republic, Aimee Shreck points to several benefits growers have experienced. Although initially the exporter decided the use of the social premium, the producers in the Azua Valley later formed fair trade groups and now decide the use of the social premium, which is going towards recovery efforts after Hurricane George and to other projects to strengthen production processes (2002: 17, 19-20). The most significant benefit, according to Shreck, is the market access and financial security that fair trade provides. Indeed, market access for banana producers in St. Vincent is also one of the most important benefits, since without fair trade more producers would have abandoned production altogether. Shreck makes a similar observation in regard to her case: “the Fair Trade market is the only reason many farmers are able to continue harvesting bananas at all” (2005: 23). In his case study of St. Lucian fair trade banana production, Moberg identifies significant collective benefits through the funding of “an array of community services otherwise beyond the reach of most rural residents” (12).

Coffee was the first fair trade certified product, and more case studies have been conducted on fair trade coffee than on any other product. For instance, the Fair Trade Research Group (Colorado State University) has conducted seven detailed studies on coffee cooperatives in Latin America, five of them in Mexico. While noting problems, all seven studies indicate that fair trade has had major community benefits (Raynolds 2002; Taylor 2002; Nigh 2002). In his overview of the reports on Mexico, Nigh states that fair trade has clearly “had an important positive impact on smallholder coffee organizations” (1). He describes the three most significant impacts as increased farmgate prices, the “empowerment” of small cooperatives, and the diversification of production (3-7). In a report summarizing and commenting upon the research conducted by the group, Peter Leigh Taylor draws particular attention to benefits such as development projects from social premium funds, access to credit, improved organizational capabilities of cooperatives, and enhanced self-esteem among community members.

Generally speaking, these case studies tend to coincide with my findings on the fair trade experience in St. Vincent. However, certain clear advantages from fair trade coffee production in Mexico, such as diversification projects and requirements from cooperatives that members switch to organic production, are not as evident in St. Vincent. Fair trade production in St. Vincent is not organic and has, indeed, experienced problems in the transition towards banning certain pesticides. When I asked the farmers if they could identify any problems with fair trade, several of them spoke of an increase of “watergrass” following a ban on certain pesticides. Thus, whereas a couple of the farmers considered this change a positive one for their health, most of the farmers pointed to it as a significant problem since it created difficulties in production. Moberg similarly identifies the development of a watergrass problem in St. Lucia (11). The grass grows wild and is a host for nematodes, which invade the root system of banana plants. FLO has granted WINFA temporary permission to use a chemical called Basta to help control the watergrass problem, on the condition that the University of the West Indies continues to work with WINFA on research and development for an alternative way to control the problem without relying on the use of harmful chemicals.

In regard to environmental impacts, the farmers in St. Vincent have to pack bunches of bananas in different plastic bags depending on the pack type of the supermarket (ASDA and Sainsbury). Although this packaging distinguishes fair trade products, it creates packaging waste. The need to package the bananas also demands increased labour from farmers. The WINFA administrator remarked that there used to be packinghouses in England but that now farmers have to pack the bananas in the special bags. In his study, Moberg raises this same problem (13) and adds that implementation of the fair trade environmental criteria also means more labour input from farmers, in terms of mechanical weeding (12).

Shreck points to several limitations of fair trade banana production in the Dominican Republic, some similar to ones in St. Vincent and some not. For instance, she indicates early problems regarding who decides how the social premium is to be spent, although she says the problem has now been resolved. The social premium is an issue that came up during my conversations with the farmers in St. Vincent, though the question of who decides was not identified as a problem. Two farmers explained that, while the social premium used to go directly to them as a bonus at the end of the year, it now goes toward community projects. Although most farmers interviewed were supportive of the collective way the social premium is used, these two indicated that they would prefer to still benefit individually. The difference of opinion concerning the use of the social premium underscores how the fair trade system includes a tendency toward re-embedding of economic relations in the community rather than following the strict allocation of benefits to individuals that market liberalism promotes.

The coffee case studies also report several limitations that coincide with findings in the case studies on bananas. However, some of these limitations were not evident in the case of St. Vincent. For instance, Shreck suggests that women do not have enough influence on how the social premium is used (2002: 20), and this problem is also identified in the coffee cases. Taylor indicates that in some of the coffee studies women did not play a large role in governance, but that the social premium did go toward some development projects for women (Taylor 11). The issue of gender came up often during my discussions with officials and farmers in St. Vincent, but these discussions always emphasized the growing involvement of women in decision-making since the emergence of fair trade. The case studies on coffee found that growers tended to have little knowledge about how fair trade works (Nigh 16, Taylor 17) and Shreck’s study on fair trade bananas indicates a similar problem (2002: 19). Nonetheless, producers in St. Vincent showed a good overall understanding about fair trade standards.

Finally, a significant limitation identified in all the cases is that, although fair trade brings material benefits to participating farmers, some are not part of the system, and even those who are do not necessarily have the opportunity to sell all of their crops at the fair trade price. In St. Vincent, although the vast majority of producers are registered to produce fair trade, not all are. Also, if registered producers exceed their weekly quota for fair trade, they then have to sell the remainder at a lower price. Such excess bananas are sold as “fair trade loose” (because they are not packaged in bags) and farmers are paid a lower price for them, though one that is still higher than the generic price.

Since fair trade operates as an alternative market within the larger context of a global market functioning largely on the principle of economic liberalism, fair trade is limited to a small share of the conventional market and cannot include all producers or even sell at the fair trade price all that is produced by those who are part of the system. Nonetheless, in St. Vincent, farmer participation in the fair trade system, begun in 2000, has grown rapidly. Fair trade banana sales from the island now make up about 80% of total banana exports, and there are indications that fair trade production will continue to increase in the future. In December 2006, Sainsbury, one of Britain’s largest food retailers, announced plans to increase its supply of fair trade bananas from the Windward Islands in order to exclusively offer fair trade bananas by July 2007 (Butler 2006; Fairtrade Foundation 2006). Sarah Butler suggests that this change is likely to result in St. Vincent switching entirely to fair trade production of bananas. In addition, according to the chair of the National Fair Trade Committee, there are emerging plans for fair trade diversification into other products, such as fresh juices.

Despite some clear limitations of fair trade in practice fair trade has, overall, clearly conferred benefits on producer communities in St. Vincent. Without fair trade, banana growers there would likely have no viable way to continue selling their bananas. According to the FLO representative: “The WINFA story and the Windward Islands’ story is really a success story in the fair trade world”. Banana farmers, despite pointing to several limitations, also generally emphasized the importance of fair trade for their continued livelihood. In the words of one woman, who had produced bananas for about 35 years, fair trade offers “a little bit of hope”.

Fair trade in St. Vincent was introduced largely through WINFA’s efforts to resist the liberalization of the Banana Regime and to help farmers sustain themselves through an alternative regulated market. The regulated fair trade market has provided producers with better incomes, more financial stability, better standards of health, programs of social development, and opportunities to directly participate in decisions affecting their communities. Such a form of re-embedding the economic relations in society, while directly providing for the needs of producer communities, constitutes a notable challenge to the principles of economic liberalism. Indeed, the fair trade system in St. Vincent offers an example of a local struggle that is part of a larger struggle against reliance upon a liberalized global market. Fair trade producers in the Windward Islands have been supported by British consumers opposed to the outcome of the WTO banana dispute, creating what Sheller refers to as a market for “‘ethical’ bananas” (15). The vast majority of fair trade bananas from the Windward Islands goes to the UK market, with four British supermarkets accounting for approximately 75% of Windward Islands fair trade fruit (Moberg 10).

Fair trade in the Windward Islands needs to be considered within the framework of a larger countermovement that involves large-scale protests against free trade agreements and organizations, efforts to promote a Tobin tax on financial markets, initiatives to cancel Third World debt, and networks that support local markets. In addition to participation in fair trade, banana farmers in St. Vincent and the other Windward Islands have made deliberate connections with the larger movement against neoliberalism, particularly engaging in protests against proposals for a free trade Economic Partnership Agreement (EPA) between the Caribbean nations (CARIFORUM) and the EU. A march was organized in St. Lucia in September 2005, and some 2000 farmers mobilized under the slogan “Get Up, Stand Up!” to coincide with a visit of the EU Trade Commissioner to discuss an EPA for the region (Banana Link 2006; SV Min. of Agriculture Sept. 2005). Hundreds of farmers gathered three weeks later in Lauders, St. Vincent; and in December 2005 another demonstration was held in Dominica against the EPA. Banana farmers, like other activists throughout the world, are taking to the streets to oppose further processes of liberalization in the region. Fair trade is thus part of a larger pattern of resistance. Indeed, the relatively successful experiences of fair trade farmers in St. Vincent, posing a significant challenge to the promotion of the free trade ideal, is aligned with other efforts in constituting what Polanyi called a countermovement.

References

Banana Link. “Banana Trade News Bulletin”. No. 34-25 (January 2006): 1-20. www.bananalink.org.u…

Banana Link. “The Banana Trade: National Import Regimes Before 1993”. www.bananalink.org.u…

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Burawoy, Michael. “For a Sociological Marxism: The Complementary Convergence of Antonio Gramsci and Karl Polanyi.” Politics and Society 31:2 (2003): 208-251.

Butler, Sarah. Times Online. “Supermarkets Switch to Fairtrade Bananas”. (December 13, 2006). business.timesonline…

Clegg, Peter. “The Development of the Windward Islands Banana Export Trade: Commercial Opportunity and Colonial Necessity”. The Society for Caribbean Studies Annual Conference Papers. 1 (2000): 1-11. r0.unctad.org/infoco…

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FLO International. Annual Report 2005-2006. (June 2006): 1-24.

Frazier, Martin. “Caribbean Banana Workers Hit by Free Trade”. The Guardian. August 10, 2005. www.cpa.org.au/garch…

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Josling, Tim. “Bananas and the WTO: Testing the New Dispute Settlement Process” in Josling, T.E. and T.G. Taylor (Eds.). Banana Wars: The Anatomy of a Trade Dispute. Cambridge: CABI Publishing, 2003. 169-194.

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Interviews with Representatives of Organizations in St. Vincent

Bobb, Arthur. WINFA Fair Trade Manager, November 8, 2006.

Allen, Philemon. Chair of the National Fair Trade Committee and Field Officer for the SVBGA, November 6, 2006.

Amarsy, Shemina. Liason Officer for Fair Trade Organization International, November 7, 2006.

Defreitas, George. WIBDECO Product Controller in St. Vincent, November 8, 2006.

Rose, Ancelma. WINFA Administrative Secretary and Secretary for Gender Affairs, November 8, 2006.

Rose, Renwick. WINFA Coordinator, November 8, 2006.

THE GIN CRAZE: KEY FACTS
Prior to the eighteenth century, alcohol consumption in England was for the most part restricted to ale, beer and wine. The period referred to as the gin craze marked a significant departure from these drinking habits: between 1720 and 1751, the per capita consumption of cheap distilled spirits almost tripled. Significantly, the gin craze was an urban phenomenon mainly confined to the working class poor of the capital. As such, London is the focus of this examination.

In response to the gin craze, Parliament passed a total of eight Gin Acts between 1729 and 1751. The aims of these Acts changed over this period. Generally, however, the Gin Acts sought to reduce gin consumption and to tax the spirit in order to levy funds for war efforts. The Acts were passed to levy licensing fees, provide rewards for informers of petty hawkers, protect informers from attack, empower private individuals to arrest gin-sellers, and regulate the issuance of licenses. Some Gin Acts were passed to respond to unanticipated problems (such as attacks on informers in 1738) and previous failed policies (such as the licensing scheme and fees). For the purpose of brevity, these Acts are referred to as they pertain to the issues in analysis.

It must be noted that throughout the period of the gin craze, the Whigs remained firmly in power. Their position on gin was divided: some Whigs were prepared to tolerate it but others, such as Sir Joseph Jekyll, wanted to prohibit the drink outright. Reformers, as referred to below, refer to the latter group.

MAIN CAUSES OF THE GIN CRAZE

A. Urbanization
The problems brought about by the increasing urbanization of London created conditions that allowed the gin craze to flourish. Gin sellers thrived in the sprawling suburbs of London because the local authorities were either too weak, corrupt or simply overwhelmed by the number of problems to deal with to adequately respond to the increased consumption. This situation was exacerbated by the absence of magistrates willing or qualified to police these neighborhoods. Consequently, thousands of women and men were able to sell gin openly and without a license.

B. Economic and political factors
There were also underlying economic and political circumstances that favored the expansion of gin distilling and consumption. The rise of distilling and gin in England can be traced to William III. After he declared war on France at the end of the seventeenth century, trade between the two nations was restricted. This restriction included France’s lucrative brandy exports and, as a result, this gap in the market opened the door for the English distilling industry to flourish. An Act was passed in 1690 to encourage the distilling of brandy and spirits from corn. There also appears to have been a deliberate policy to guide British tastes towards spirits: in addition to the heavy duties imposed on French wines and brandy, duties on strong beer were doubled in 1690.

The gin craze was fueled by the ease of manufacture of gin by small distillers: during the early years of the eighteenth century and gin production in England, there was absolutely no control over the production or consumption of gin. A new Act passed in 1713 helped entrench the distilling industry by affirming that, “[a]ny person may distil brandy or spirits from British malt and such […] persons shall not be prosecuted for so doing.”

These changes coincided with a period of good grain harvests, when landowners who dominated both houses of Parliament were happy to encourage a new market for corn at a time when beer production was falling. Since domestic distillers provided a potentially inexhaustible market for surplus grain, policies were passed that reflected the alliance between distillers and landowners. The good years for farmers represented equally good years for the urban population. The average income was much higher in London than elsewhere in England and the increased spending power of this city’s working poor meant that they had discretionary income with which to indulge in gin.

Last, the economic considerations of Parliament also account for the gin craze. Funds needed to be raised to fight costly wars, and from 1720 to 1750 gin became a powerful source of revenue. Gin was an ideal substance to tax because it had become the beverage of choice of the poor, a group that had little voice to oppose such taxation.

GIN, SOCIAL UPHEAVAL & CRIME IN LONDON
When gin appeared on the streets of London, it was a new drug for which there were no rules and rituals governing its use, as there were with ale or wine, and thereby acting to limit its more harmful effects. For example, there are reports of early gin drinkers indulging in gin in the same volume as they would have ale. Widespread drinking to intoxication by both genders came to be seen as a threat to public order and social stability, though today the disastrous effects of gin consumption are believed largely exaggerated. For example, during the gin craze, the per capita consumption of beer remained relatively constant and consequently, alcohol-induced problems cannot be solely attributable to gin. Nevertheless, gin consumption was gradually linked with the increased commission of crime.

Crime or the fear of crime was a factor in the passage of the Gin Acts. Incidents of assaults, murders, and self-induced harm in gin-shops were regularly reported in London journals. Reformers turned to such accounts and concluded that gin made people violent. The fact that violence occurs most often when people happen to meet and gin-shops were frequent meeting places for the poor of eighteenth century London, was a detail omitted in such conclusions. Gin nonetheless came to be associated with a wide variety of crimes, as the following verse from The London Evening-Post, March 1751, illustrates:

This wicked gin, of all Defence bereft,
And guilty found of Whoredom, Murder, Theft,
Of rank Sedition, Treason, Blasphemy,
Should suffer Death, the Judges all agree

Adding to the fears of crime was the return of soldiers and sailors to the populace of London. During years of war, it had been difficult for Whig reformers to suggest that the Crown place restrictions on an industry that provided much needed revenue. October 1748, however, marked the end of the War of Austrian Succession and between 1749 and 1750, 79,000 soldiers and sailors returned into the civilian population. The return of these men was a cause for alarm with respect to the crimes unemployed veterans could foreseeably commit in the streets of England. Since gin was believed to be a leading cause of crime, restricting the availability of it was considered sound policy to address this fear.

GIN ACT, 1751
To pass the 1751 Gin Act, reformers exploited the public’s fear of crime. They offered a simple formula with an equally simple solution: gin, they said, led to crime; take away the first and away goes the second. The Act had the effect of raising excises on British spirits by more than fifty percent, banning sales of gin in prisons and other lockups and barring distillers and street hawkers from retailing gin. By 1751, the gin craze had effectively ended but, as seen below, this event had little to do with the legislation or, for that matter, the end of crime.

GIN ACTS AS CAUSES OF CRIME
There are striking examples of the counterproductive nature of the increased state involvement in social ordering and regulation that was sought through the Gin Acts. The 1736 Gin Act, for instance, required an exorbitantly expensive £50 license for retailing gin and through such a steep requirement, Parliamentarians sought to effectively outlaw the sale of gin. This Gin Act provoked immense backlash against the government and in the years following this Act, London was rocked by a series of popular protests that posed a much more immediate threat to public order than gin ever had. There was widespread opposition from the trade and from the London public. Rioting, an explosion at Westminster Hall, and threats to the life of Joseph Jekyll (the chief initiator of the Act) ensued. Moreover, sales of gin, after a momentary slump, actually increased after the 1736 Act in part because selling and drinking gin constituted a form of political protest against a highly unpopular government.

The rewards to informers offered under the Gin Acts of 1736 and 1737 were also a catalyst for crime. In the year following these acts, hardly a day passed in which an informer was not attacked on the streets of London, sometimes by mobs of a hundred people or more.

GIN & POVERTY
An examination of the Gin Acts and crime would be incomplete without reference to poverty and the role poverty played in exacerbating the problems that arose in London related to gin consumption. Most people who drank gin were among the city’s working class poor. Since the poor were small, malnourished, and lived in an unsanitary environment, they were ill equipped to metabolize the large quantities of alcohol gin delivered. Gin provided refuge and comfort from the harsh realities of daily London life. Gin helped relieve the pains of adaptation to unfamiliar and increasingly industrialized work routines and to unhealthy living conditions in a city that had few recreational outlets beyond the gin-shop. Evidently, the infrastructure of the day was inadequate to meet the complex challenges posed by a modern city life characterized by an increasingly heterogeneous population and the dislocation of the industrial revolution served to heighten the social and medical problems of excessive gin-drinking.

The campaign against gin presented a simple solution to the problem of poverty: gin by itself was responsible for the poor health and poor behavior of its users. People were poor and destitute because they drank gin and not the other way around. The link between gin and poverty is of particular relevance as one considers the impact of the gin craze and its accompanying legislative measures on the predominantly poor women of London.

WOMEN & GIN
Reformers sought to problematize the behavior of women who had taken to gin drinking as a way to push forward an agenda that upheld a status quo in which women had a given role and place: a role that included chastity and subordination, and a place that was in the home and not gin-shops. In the process of the regulation of gin possibilities opened for the indirect regulation of other behaviors that linked drug use with moral choice. In the case of the gin craze, these behaviors center on women with respect to sexuality, gender role, motherhood, and economic activity. Upholding the patriarchal order accounts for, in part, the disproportionate conviction of women under the Gin Acts and why the Gin Acts operated to restrict women’s access to gin. Moreover, the emphasis placed in the popular press on the evils of female gin consumption provided added momentum for reformers.

A. Gender and sexuality
The connection between women’s use of gin and crime was of particular concern for reformers. During the gin craze years, women were participating in an activity that had previously been restricted to men in ales houses; women could now drink side by side with men in gin-shops of London. This was a cause for alarm among reformers because it symbolized a transformation in the station and gender role of women.

Drinking women alarmed reformers because they believed that, “drunkenness desires lust” and that women who drank were promiscuous. Consequently, reformers considered gin-drinking women responsible for the spread of the sexual health scourge of the eighteenth century: syphilis. Evidently, this belief was inconsistent in its exclusive application to the effects of alcohol on women and did not address male responsibility in the spread of venereal disease. Women were singled out for responsibility and this contributed to the vilification of female gin drinkers and women generally, an issue examined below. The association between alcohol and sexuality also led to assumptions that drinking wives could be adulterous wives. Drinking wives could be disorderly and challenge their husbands’ authority (and by extension, the authority of the state) and thereby the natural order of things in a patriarchal society.

Along with promiscuous and adulterous behavior, gin became associated with prostitution, an issue that ranked high on the agenda of moral reformers. The association between gin and prostitution came about because gin-shops were public places that brought prostitute and customer together. It is important to note however that gin-shops were simply places where ordinary people gathered in a city where there were few other social spaces. As such, gin-shops were perhaps unfairly associated with prostitution in the sense that prostitution occurs where people happen to frequently gather. The tarnished reputation of gin shops in the eyes of reformers prompted legislation that aimed to shut down gin-shops, target petty hawkers, and disproportionately convict women.

B. Women and children
Reformers were especially critical of women whose drinking endangered the health or welfare of infants or small children. These women included pregnant women, nursing women and women who looked after their own or other people’s children. The cause of infant welfare was adopted by reformers not out of concern for the welfare of mothers or the infants themselves, but because reformers believed that the survival of the nation was jeopardized by the behavior of gin-consuming women. They believed gin to have the potential to reduce both the number and fitness of the next generation of soldiers, sailors and laborers.

In the 1740s, newspaper headlined shocking statistics, such as attributing the death of 84,000 children as a result of gin drinking since 1725. While the effects of gin on the fetus and breast fed children were not benign, as medical evidence from that period and today demonstrate, the overwhelming cause of child mortality was not gin but rather infectious diseases resulting from severe overcrowding, the lack of sanitation, polluted water supplies and inadequate nutrition. It was hence inaccurate to attribute infant death and the stagnant population growth on the gin drinking habits of poor women. Whatever the actual harms of gin drinking, the lives and health of women adversely affected were not a priority with reformers.

Other reasons underpinning the concerns of the reformers for the fitness of the next generation were far less patriotic. Contemporary mercantilist theory favored an ever-growing population as a way to ensure that the supply of labour always exceeded demand and this was a way to ensure longer working hours from the poor and to keep wages low. The loss of millions of pounds to the economy was attributed to a depressed population and gin-drinking women were among those responsible for crippling London’s economic growth.

C. Economic opportunity
The reformers’ aim was not only to control the sexuality of women, but also to maintain the status quo with respect to the economic opportunities open to women. The early eighteenth century was a period of enormous mobility in which thousands of young women descended on London every year in search of jobs and husbands. The reality they faced was bleak: the few jobs that were open to women tended to be poorly paid. Gin selling, however, was one of the few occupations from which women were not effectively or explicitly excluded and the black market in gin came to be characterized by poor, single, destitute women who supplemented their meager incomes through the sale of this spirit. Thus to criminalize the sale of gin by petty hawkers was to criminalize one of the few economic endeavors accessible to women at a time when this was one of the only ways women could raise their standard of living. Ironically, reformers failed to see that gin-selling actually provided women with an alternative to an evil they campaigned against: prostitution.

The Gin Acts of 1736 and 1737 authorized commissioners of excise to reward informers of petty hawkers who sold gin in the streets and alleys of London. As a result, thousands of Londoners, most of them women, were convicted of selling gin without a license. After the passing of these Acts, women were several times more likely than men to be charged, convicted and sent to prison once convicted. Though women accounted for less than 20 percent of all known retailers in East London and the City of London, they accounted for nearly 70 percent of the individuals charged under the Gin Act 1736.

Jessica Warner links the campaign against gin to a larger campaign to regulate the pre-industrial marketplace and drive from it occasional vendors, most of them women. It is difficult to estimate the impact these policies had on the long-term exclusion of women from economic ventures. What is known is that targeting women in this manner had an immediate impact on the welfare and potential for self-improvement of the poor women of eighteenth century London.

D. Women personifying the evils of gin
The year the most infamous of the Gin Acts was passed, marked the year witchcraft ceased to be a statutory offence in England. The ideas associated with witches continued and superposed women through the personification of the evils of female gin-drinking in “Madam Geneva.” Madam Geneva was an unholy and unnatural creature that was described as “part whore and part witch.” She is the central figure in William Hogarth’s 1751 satirical print “Gin Lane” (see image): a drunken woman sprawled on the steps in St Giles’s. She is too drunk with gin to notice the squalor around her or her child falling out of her arms. With her blouse hanging open and the sores of syphilis on her legs, the observer learns what she has had to do to pay for her gin habit, a habit that has aged and destroyed her. Madam Geneva epitomizes all the evils of gin and its corruption of women. She is the image of failed motherhood and immorality. Hogarth choice of subject was not coincidence. He was a reformer and “Gin Lane” was his attack on the evils of the gin and this piece highlights the negative female imagery of the gin craze. The highly published case of Judith Defour, that served as a rallying cry for the reformers, also contributed to the creation of this picture. Together, Hogarth’s work and the Defour murder helped make the case for the passing of the last Gin Act in 1751.

Defour was a single mother who was convicted for the murder of her young daughter, Mary. She strangled her daughter after stripping Mary of the new clothes given by a parish. Judith used the money from their sale to buy gin. The Defour case highlighted the dangers of gin that echoed those of reformers: the failure of motherhood and the murder of children.

Female gin consumption was problematized and value-loaded as an act of moral significance. This is reflected in the response of magistrates and the disproportionate convictions of women. The perception of reformers and their attempt to regulate women is a complex interplay between the lives and economic realities of women, the influence of the press and the institution of government.

THE END OF THE GIN CRAZE
The mid-eighteenth century marked a time of disastrous harvests in England. As a result, the distillation of spirits from corn was significantly reduced. As the supply dropped, the price of gin soared accordingly. The consumer power of the urban poor was by this time also in decline. By the time the final Gin Act was passed in 1751, average wages were depressed and the price of bread was high, thus leaving the working poor with little disposable income to spend on gin. The excises on gin also account for the end of the craze: these had grown by more that 1,200 percent between 1700 and 1771. Scholars have also argued that, like all crazes, the novelty of the substance had to wear off at some point. Gin was the drink of choice of a generation, similar to the choice of opium or ecstasy as a drug of choice of later generations.

LEGACY OF THE GIN CRAZE
The gin craze is a complex and multidimensional story. It is a story of industrialization and urbanization, wealth and want, gender roles, and the criminalization of certain activities. The problems reformers sought to curb with gin in eighteenth century helped shape the responses adopted by later government to phenomena of perceived widespread substance use. The ideas stemming from the gin craze also served to fuel later movements to promote complete abstinence in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. To this end, the gin craze initiated a pattern of problematizing and criminalizing behavior associated with substance use and provides insight into contemporary drug wars. The gin craze of eighteenth century London also demonstrates that the fear associated with the use of a substance is often disproportionate to the actual harm and serves to obfuscate underlying social and economic inequities.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Burnett, John. Liquid Pleasures: A Social History of Drinks in Modern Britain. (New York: Routledge, 1999).

Dillon, Patrick. Gin: The Much-Lamented Death of Madam Geneva. (Boston: Justin, Charles and Co., 2004).

Martin, A. Lynn. Alcohol, Sex and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe. (New York: Palgrave, 2001).

Warner, Jessica. Craze: Gin and Debauchery in an Age of Reason. (Toronto: Random House 2002).

Warner, Jessica et al. “On the Vanguard of the First Drug Scare: Newspapers and Gin in London, 1736-1751.” Journalism History. December 1, 2001. Vol. 27. Issue 4.

Watney, John. Mother’s Ruin: A History of Gin. (London: Peter Owen Limited, 1976).

Canadians and Poets frequently come across as polite ignoramuses; they let others spit on their shoes and tend to hibernate. Yet at the same time Canadians and Poets are fiercely lyrical at heart. Just think of the opening to our national anthem, “Oh Canada glorious and free…we stand on guard for thee…” These lines stir everyone’s bowels at least slightly (to use the word bowel in the archaic sense of “the seat of gentler emotions”). Or take Leonard Cohen’s stanza from Tower of Song, “I was born this way, I had no choice, I was born with the gift of a golden voice”. Canada is blessed with a beautiful voice, like Leonard Cohen, and also smitten with the idealized romanticism of our national anthem.

Poetry and Canada are at the same time fractured entities for which federal or poetical totality glue will always seem weak and unwise to squeeze on unless you possess the sticky vision of a Pierre Berton, or Margaret Atwood, or Northrop Frye, or Sir John A Macdonald. Diversity and spatial fragmentation hold sway over vain universals; which is a blessing, indeed, so long as we negotiate our differences to the best of our imagination and come up with some common ground upon which to make a stand. Nationalism can become violent and fascist - but it doesn’t have to. It may in fact be a necessary mode of expression for avoiding involvement in other forms of hegemonic nastiness.

“We are poetry!” shout the wolves, and the members of the outdoors club howl back: “We are Canadian!”

Sometimes in our weaker moments we dream of a national or federal identity, a working foundation upon which we can agree to B, and build our B-eing. We might hazard a definition for Canada…“a post colonial, Westminster-model style of newish nation comprised of 10 provinces and 3 territories, as outlined in the constitution”. And so do the poets sometimes risk a totalizing definition of their vocation, maybe something along the lines of Poetry: “a compact form of expression employing words, with an emphasis on hidden meaning, sonic resonance, and metrical rhythm as outlined in the holy canon”, or some such.

Yet definitions limit and lock. They narrow and then strangle us. Most poets, even, tend to deny the experiments of their colleagues the status of poetry. “This picture of words is no poem,” the Sonneteer says in response to a piece of Concrete Poetry, “It is a painting!”; because the manipulation of material language in a visually conceptual way can be repugnant and confusing to the traditionalist who feels that poetry should best be written in metre and rhyme. (For a more nuanced treatment of this topic check out Pearly Pearl’s article, http://www.pagehalffull.com/rhyme.html.)

Of Spoken Word: “This oracular incantation be no poesy! This be public address of the raunchiest kind! This be immoral ego performance!” Decries the traditional Concrete Poet in turn when attending a poetry slam, because Spoken Word challenges their notion of what poetry should be. Poetry has traditionally been taught as something to be read or viewed on the page. Take away the notation and composition no longer involves “writing” as Mr. Guttenberg knew it. Then of course there is the outcry about the competitiveness of the form.

“All these funny nonsense sounds are balderdash, if you ask me!” Says the Spoken Word artist, in turn, when they hear Sound Poetry.

The different factions have trouble accepting each other – how human!

The result is like multiculturalism gone horribly awry, a Tower of Canuck Babel, different contingents hardening into discrete communities like misanthropic spruce sap, with little cross over ever happening between the groups – and sometimes wicked battles waged between opposing poetic or ethnic camps. The Anglo-Saxon projects their xenophobia and protectionist paranoia, born from northern emotional malaise, onto the transformative spirit of immigrants. Debate and conviction are important, but shouldn’t we at least assess each cultural product or practice on its own terms?

Our definition of national space has been narrowing to view the city as the dominant unit of geopolitical expression, with Federal/National organization as the most vulnerable because it is frequently founded upon what are perceived to be fanciful or wrong-minded universalisms, which although projecting the façade of inclusivity always leave some group in the dark. For instance the notion of “two official languages”, as if to ignore all the other ones, both foreign and indigenous. Or the narcissistic human failure to represent animals, trees, natural resources, in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and the Constitution.

As Canada becomes a nation known mainly for its dirty oil and military bodybuilding it can be disappointing to realize that programs such as peacekeeping and universal health care are fading like an old Utopian dream. The self-conscious nationalism which strove to create a unique geo-social space is deteriorating from the acidic cynicism of a supergeneration of both young and old who don’t have much to believe in any more; whose dreams, aspirations, sense of belonging and comfort are kept afloat by the all-pervasive value systems of capital.

If Poetry and Canada are to find themselves it’s going to take some serious meditative cross country ski trips into the soulful snowdrifts to clear the mind of all the clutter of this techno crazy super stimulated world in which the only logic is that of material fulfillment and Self-realization.

We have to get Native about this! That’s right, we must forget our fears of cultural appropriation and dive into the holistic mindset of the tribal awakening! That is if we desire a fluid, righteous definition – a definition to end all definitions - there are no alternatives. It becomes like making the mental leap, as John Newlove does in this following poem, to know that we are somehow, through dust and bone…descended from those who came before.

…the Indians

are not composed of

the romantic stories

about them, or of the stories

they tell only, but

still ride the soil

in us, dry bones a part

of the dust in our eyes,

needed and troubling

in the glare, in

our breath, in our

ears, in our mouths,

in our bodies entire, in our minds, until

at last

we become them

in our desires, our desires,

mirages, mirrors, that are theirs, hard-

riding desires, and they

become our true forbears, molded

by the same wind or rain,

and in this land we

are their people, come

back to life again.

(from “The Pride” by John Newlove, originally published in the collection Black Night)

A strange thought….that “white” “man” is descended from the natives. But maybe these kind of leaps are exactly what is needed to continue rewriting this country.

Poetry as a Boundless Category

Instead of narrowing our definitions, perhaps we should widen them until they disappear altogether. Poetry can be seen as a force, let me put it that way, a fundamental energy for all kinds of expression, which only becomes recognizable as poetry (per se) once it’s been vocalized, either with a pen or one’s voice. But poetry doesn’t necessarily need to be written. It need not be spoken. It exists without our meddling. The poem itself is not essential to poetry.

There exists the potential for poetic expression in everything, anywhere. As bp Nichol puts it:

POETRY BEING AT A DEAD END POETRY IS DEAD. HAVING ACCEPTED THIS FACT WE ARE FREE TO LIVE THE POEM. HAVING FREED THE POEM FROM THE NECESSITY TO BE THE POEM IS NOW CONSTANTLY HAPPENING IN OUR LIVES. WHAT HAS BEEN CONSTANT TILL NOW HAVE BEEN THE ARTIFICIAL BOUNDARIES WE HAVE PLACED ON THE POEM. WE HAVE PLACED THE POEM BEYOND OURSELVES BY PUTTING ARTIFICIAL BOUNDARIES BETWEEN OURSELVES & THE POEM WE MUST PUT THE POEM IN OUR LIVES BY FREEING IT FROM THE NECESSITY TO BE…

(From ABC: The Aleph Beth Book, by bpNichol)

Poetry is above us and below us, under us and on top of us; it is hovering on the other side of the hill or sealed inside the bag of potato chips. It is within us, all around us. An old shoe is a poetic old thing. The light reflecting in a million scales on the water is poetic in a way which defies the cliché. Adbusters being sold in Wall-Fart is poetic. Irony is a level of the poetic. “Poetry in motion” is an expression of the same idea - that some things are poetry. Like Canada.

Poetry always hits the mind closest to the rainbow radiant. Our ability to receive poetic information is a sense that must be developed through the nerves. Poetry is in the printer and the micro-chip. Poetry conquers the musician who is nothing without it. Poetry is a fundamental unit of creation. It is a lever and a plug-in. It is part of the necessary components of the imagination. People won’t always understand it or even necessarily perceive it. Words magnetize the poetic charges which flow and weave all around us. Poetry is a license not to make sense.

Yes, poetry is the Canadian condition, but we cannot say that Canadian is the Poetic condition. There is, finally, a point where Canada and Poetry part ways, become absolutely unrelated. The only thing to do, in these moments when poetry is lost, alone in an uncaring universe, is write another poem. Or at least reflect upon its presence. No wonder Canadian poets are so renown (within Canada) for their obsessions with place. As if true Canadian history were in fact something like a haiku.

… …

Why The National?

Canadian-ess can be seen in the same perspective. Perhaps the term “Canadian” is just a façade concealing the spirit within the word. The spirit of Canada. The spirit, quite possibly, of the earth which predated our urban conglomerations. Peter Mansbridge becomes emblematic within the immanence, as if he were a shaman divining messages from Teleprompter. When poetics leads one into conspiratorial schizoanalysis Canadian culture may just appear to be a tidy concept - the national flag as a kind of matador’s cape waved by the government to divert the raging masses. The modern world sometimes seems best viewed through this conspiratorial lens, as if it worked according to certain social agencies much larger than individual understanding and influence. Poems can help decipher those codes.

Like wingless birds our desires migrate into a horizon without oxygen – our internationalism is a web of desire oscillating to other countries and coming back like a tide upon which beautiful influences are borne. Within this motion you can sense the tropicalization of Canada – that warming of the soul. Like electrons escaped from their atoms we bond with the foreign and form new chains of being. As if all the physical features floated on the pool of the soul and we were reaching ourselves across the intermingling currents. In the ice palace of the north southern spectres flicker upon gelid blocks raising ancient philosophical questions about essence and form. So much to learn from Cuba - them from us. The need to rise strong against what is coming; to say no to that which will be proposed; to stand tall against the shortness of the bill upon the table.